


Where the End Begins

by prototyping



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, Teacher-Student Relationship, Too much sass, genfic, older Ven is still a dork, platonic, post-kh3, this fandom still needs more genfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-05-23 00:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6098774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the past can be swept under the rug. Sometimes the broken pieces scatter and cut deep when you least expect it. And sometimes fate decides that the only one with answers is the same person who tried to destroy everything you ever cared about. Ventus, Xehanort, and the struggle to see the light through the shadows. Post-KH3, rated T for some violent references.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunrise

The hallway echoed with pounding footsteps as Ven bounded down the staircase two at a time. At the bottom he caught the end of the railing and pivoted a sharp one-eighty degrees on the marble floor, redirecting his momentum and taking off at a jog without losing speed.

He’d slept late -- for the first in a long time -- which meant the others would be up already. He didn’t have to worry about sneaking through the corridors as he had often done in the early morning, but it did mean he had a late start on his plans for the day. He pulled on his coat as he went, the stark white robe he’d been gifted after his growth spurt a year ago had forced him to move on from his teenage wardrobe. Boots, not sneakers, thumped on the floor under his steps.

He ducked into the kitchen to find it empty. Somebody -- Aqua, he was sure -- had left the jars of honey and cinnamon on the counter alongside some biscuits for him, as well as an empty mug and a tea bag. The kettle was also half full, though cooled, and with a grateful smile Ven lit the stove and set it on the burner.

While that warmed, he figured, he could make a quick run to the library and back to get some reading done while he ate. Shoving half a biscuit in his mouth, he took off down the corridor again as he went over his mental list of texts.

_History on the early World, and those old books on ancient magic that I promised Xion… I haven’t seen ‘em since we came back, though. Might have to ask about those._

The large windows glared down with late morning sunlight, illuminating the hall in sharp shades of white and gold. Ven’s shadow stretched up and along the opposite wall, looking twice as long as it had when he was fifteen. The double doors to the library were closed, as usual, tall and made of heavy oak under thick layers of white paint. He pulled one open and slipped inside, leaving it ajar behind him as a reminder that he had water boiling, and trotted down the landing’s couple steps to the main floor of the room--

\--and froze when he realized that he wasn’t alone. Standing by one of the long wooden tables was Eraqus, who turned around at the interruption and instantly met Ven’s gaze as though he had known right where to look. Ven was convinced by now that it was a skill of some kind. In his hands was a large tome that he appeared to be leafing through.

Ven quickly straightened up to a more respectful height, needing an awkward moment to swallow the last of his biscuit. “I’m sorry, Master,” he blurted a second later, and covered his mouth to clear his thick throat. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He started backwards up the stairs, more than happy to leave Eraqus alone to his reading.

It wasn’t that they weren’t allowed to share the (large) space with him; ever since the Land of Departure’s restoration, the trio had noticed that he would spend up to half a day in here at times, quietly perusing books or, in the winter, sitting by the fireplace late into the night until it burned out. He always seemed to be in his own world then, lost in deep thoughts, and they had all agreed not to infringe on that privacy. They each had their guesses on what it was about, but they never spoke behind their master’s back.

Ven was still backpedaling when Eraqus offered him a solemn smile. “It’s all right, Ventus. Actually, since you’re here, would you join me? I’ve been meaning to speak with you.”

It was delivered as a question, but it was still an order in the sense that they both knew Ven would never refuse. Indicating two of the grey armchairs sitting opposite one another, Eraqus claimed one and sat, and Ven did the same a heartbeat later.

The windows facing west had been opened, thinning out much of the stuffiness that usually permeated the library. From here Ven could see his favorite summit, standing tall and reflecting the spring sun in such a way that it lit up the leather-bound volumes lining the opposite wall.

“How was your journey?” Eraqus asked, breaking Ven’s focus on the scenery.

“Great!” he said cheerfully. “The last of the repairs in Radiant Garden are finally done. They haven’t had any Heartless problems in a while, either.”

“I’m glad to hear it. And the Lanes?”

“Pretty clear. I haven’t seen anything big since last summer.”

“Very good.” Despite that Eraqus’ expression remained its usual serious-neutral, he seemed genuinely pleased by the news. He linked his hands before his chest and regarded Ven over them evenly. “What’s your assessment?”

A question like that would have caught Ven off guard before -- it had, the first time -- but by now he was used to these random inquiries. Ever since he was named Master, Eraqus had kept him on his toes with the occasional request for a report, opinion, or even advice. Ven considered briefly, thinking over all he had seen personally of late as well as what he had heard.

“It’s a lot better than it was,” he said thoughtfully, “and the sightings have gone down this year. But if Heartless are still in the Lanes, that means all worlds are still at risk. I think we can relax a little, but we probably shouldn’t ease up on the patrol any more than we already have.”

With a contemplative hum, Eraqus turned that over. “I agree.” His thin smile returned and Ven couldn’t help feeling a little elated at the approval. “It’s clear you’ve filled your role responsibly, Ventus. I’m proud.”

Ven tried not to beam, but failed. “I’ve had some great Masters to learn from,” he pointed out, not at all self-conscious about returning the compliment.

Eraqus gave a low chuckle that was only just audible. “And you’ve learned more than I predicted. But being a Master doesn’t mean you’ve learned all there is to know.” The side of his mouth quirked almost playfully, a rare expression that Ven had only seen twice before. It faded, and then Eraqus bowed his head slightly. “Even in my old age, there are many things I’m still learning,” he added more softly.

Ven fought the urge to frown, and then resisted rubbing his arm nervously. He instead glanced away at the window again, unsure if he should comment. Was there anything left to say on that matter? He didn’t think so, but he’d learned a lot about adults in recent years and knew that they tended to hold onto things longer than he did, even if it hurt.

Eraqus spared him the choice by speaking up again. “In that regard, I’d like to discuss a particular matter with you.” Curious though Ven was, he didn’t push, but waited for Eraqus’ timing. “As you know,” his master began, “it was necessary that one of you take my place -- that you accept the responsibility of inheriting and remaining on this land. But seeing as Aqua has agreed to that role, you and Terra have more… options, you can say.”

“Options?” Ven echoed. He frowned slightly, puzzled, but one thing seemed clear. “You mean… I can leave?” Ever since the world was restored, he’d been allowed to come and go -- mostly as he pleased -- but the question that he asked now held some weight.

Eraqus nodded once. “As young as you still are, I can hardly call you a child any longer. That isn’t to say I trust your judgment in _all_ matters.” he added, his gaze a little more piercing. It quickly softened again, however. “But it’s clear to me that you’ve done some growing up while I wasn’t looking. All of you. And that is why I’m offering you a choice, Ventus, just as I’ve offered Terra.”

Ven remained respectfully and curiously silent. This would have thrilled him years ago, but now he wasn’t sure what to expect.

Eraqus continued, “You know the history of our world. You know the purpose of the True Masters. We safeguard this sacred ground, we raise up new Masters, and we protect the World at large, when necessary. That was my role, my master’s role, and the role of his master before. It can be yours, as well, if you choose -- but as I told you, Aqua is the only one bound to it. She will choose a student after herself, and so on, to carry on this legacy. As fellow Masters, you and Terra are no less vital, either to the World or to me. Nevertheless, you have a choice.” He continued to watch Ven over his hands, his stare steady and firm. Once upon a time, a look like that had made Ven uneasy. “You may remain here and assist the lineage, raising your own pupils -- or you may go abroad, wherever your heart takes you. What you do with such freedom, I have no control over; it’s only imperative that you continue to uphold your duties as a Keyblade Master in all that you do.”

Silence followed. Ven dropped his gaze to stare thoughtfully at the floor, unconsciously tracing the patterns that sunlight and the shifting curtains threw across it. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, but still hesitated. The question was there, but he was afraid of the answer. “Do I… If I choose one, is that it? If I did leave, does that mean I couldn’t--”

“Of course not.” Eraqus’ tone turned sharp, calling Ven’s attention back to him in a heartbeat. His frown was equally strict. “I want you to understand that this is your home, Ventus. It always will be.”

Despite the sternness there, Ven gave a small smile, aware that there was genuine affection behind it. “Yes, Master. I’m sorry.”

Eraqus exhaled quietly, not quite a sigh. “Well, I would rather you ask me instead of worry about it. You may stay here and travel as you’ve done, or you may call another place home; it is your choice, but know that you are always welcome here regardless. Neither do you have to decide today; take your time. Think on it.”

“I understand.” In essence, Ven was being given an adult’s choice, then. He could choose what to do with his life, what direction to go in, all according to what _he_ wanted. It was an exciting thought, for sure.

“But,” said Eraqus, “should the role of mentor be your preference, I would take on that mantle sooner rather than later. Some wielders of the Keyblade display the mark at a very young age, as you and Terra and Aqua have done, but others require a lifetime of guidance.”

That made sense, Ven thought. As depressing as the image was, it wouldn’t do to take on a student late in life only to pass on and leave them alone.

“What of Sora?” Eraqus wondered. “You are training him, aren’t you?”

“Sort of,” Ven replied slowly, thinking of the best way to phrase it. “I’ve taught him some things, but he said he’s fine with not being a Master.” Thinking back, he almost laughed. “ ‘I’ll always be there to help my friends when they need it,’ ” he recited, “ ‘but I don’t have to be a Master to do that.’ “

“Hmph.” It might have been meant as a skeptical sound, but there was humor in it. “That does sound like him. A little on the proud side, but he does have a point after what he’s accomplished.”

Ven nodded, warmth and a hint of pride in his smile. “I think he’ll be all right either way.”

“And Xion?” Eraqus proposed. “She seems to have become attached to you of late.”

Inwardly fumbling, Ven tried to decide how to answer that. “Oh... uh -- y-yeah, I guess she has. Kind of,” he managed, lamely. When the silence stretched on for several long seconds, he realized that he was probably supposed to elaborate. “Oh -- right -- training -- uh -- she’s -- really Aqua’s student, though. I just help her with small things,” he added quickly, feeling his face grow warm.

If Eraqus noticed the unusual stammering or flush of color, he didn’t comment on it. Ven’s eyes stayed fixed on his knees, so he didn’t catch his master’s expression. “...Even so,” said Eraqus, after what felt like half a minute, “if it’s within your interests, it may be worth sharing students. Aqua has two others as it is.”

Bobbing his head again, Ven was silent. He would make sure to ask Aqua if she needed a hand, but he was pretty confident that she had things under control. She and Terra were both natural teachers, and her time with Xion, Kairi, and Naminé was already showing impressive results.

That said, Ven rewound his thoughts to the previous topic. The choice of staying or leaving. As much as he loved his home, he couldn’t deny that the thought of an extended trip was exciting. Lately, the longest he would be away was a few days, a week at most, depending on the matter at hand or whom he was visiting.

“Going abroad…” He mused over that for a moment. An unconscious frown made its way onto his face as a thought hit him: “That’s what Xehanort did, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Eraqus paused, but a glance up said his expression was nigh on impossible to read. “We were made Masters on the same day, but I was chosen for the lineage. It didn’t sit well with Xehanort to remain here after that.” Hands unfolding, he settled them on the chair’s armrests as he looked out the window. “...He always did hold knowledge in the highest esteem. He felt as though he had learned as much as he could in this world, and sought answers beyond these boundaries. That in itself is not wrong,” he added, turning back to Ven. “The pursuit of knowledge and wisdom is a noble goal, provided the fruit of that search is used for a noble cause. But he strayed from that possibility long before he met you.”

When Ven didn’t answer right away, Eraqus sensed his thoughts and added, “Don’t compare yourself to him, Ventus, nor your desires to his. There is no doubt in my mind that your intentions are pure.”

That meant a lot coming from him, but Ven shook his head. “It’s not that. Or… it’s not just that. It’s just… I remember a lot more now. Ever since waking up, it’s like I’ve slowly been getting back more of my memory. Memories from before I came to the Land of Departure.” It no longer hurt, either, to think of those things; if he tried too hard or too long, he would often end up with a headache, but even that wasn’t as bad as it used to be. He’d started to wonder whether he might remember everything, eventually -- his life with Xehanort, as well as the time before then, if there was any. Whom he used to be.

Some of those thoughts must have shown on his face. “Your past,” Eraqus mused. “Yes… I’m afraid I can’t counsel you much on that matter, except to say that how much you pursue -- if any -- is entirely your decision.”

“I might not have a choice,” Ven murmured, to himself as much as Eraqus. He stared down at his hands now. “It just… comes to me, sometimes. In small pieces. Some of ‘em are so blurry that I’m not sure if they’re real or not. Maybe they’re just dreams, or…” Or some of Sora’s memories blended with his own. That had happened before. “But… not all of them are bad,” he added. On the contrary, most were positive, even if the negative ones -- like those around Vanitas’ creation -- were the clearest in his mind. “I remember… we used to travel a lot. I don’t even know if Xehanort had a real place to stay back then. We were always moving from one place to the next. I thought… he was looking for something, but he never told me what. I never asked.”

Unconsciously, he actually smiled slightly. “I liked that, though -- going around, seeing new places. He trained me pretty hard sometimes, but he wasn’t… cruel, or anything.” He hadn’t been the most loving master, either -- he wasn’t the doting type -- but from what Ven could recall, Xehanort had always treated him with respect. Back then it had made him feel pretty special, actually. He hadn’t been used to adults giving him attention, especially elders.

Ven blinked as he broke from his reverie, shaking his head and the thoughts out of it as he quickly looked up at Eraqus again with a lopsided smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get off-topi--” He stopped when he noticed his master’s face. Eraqus was smiling, but it looked strained, even a little sad. His eyes were distant as though looking through Ven, or not even seeing him at all. “Master?”

Eraqus made a neutral sound in his throat, although the look lingered a moment more before he changed it to a more honest smile. Even then, it still seemed a little somber. “No, that’s all right.” Ven waited, sensing there was something more to be said, and sure enough Eraqus continued after a moment, “Ventus--”

The hesitation was odd. Unlike him. He seemed to require effort to look his pupil in the eye again. “...This is only a thought -- after all that’s happened, I wouldn’t recommend it under any other circumstances. But neither do I consider it imprudent, necessarily.”

Ven blinked, brow furrowed.

Eraqus continued, “Have you thought about speaking with him again?”

Unconsciously, Ven’s spine stiffened. The easy warmth in his face cooled by several noticeable degrees, and it was now his turn to break off eye contact. Despite his unease, he resisted the impulse to speak right away and considered his answer. At length, however, all he came up with was an uncertain, “Talk... with Xehanort?”

“Yes.” Eraqus’ tone was quiet and patient. Gentle. “As you know, I’ve spoken with him on several occasions since the Second War. He resides where he does because Yen Sid and I are convinced that he no longer means any harm.” Leaning forward, he placed a scarred hand on Ven’s knee, drawing his gaze back up. “And I swear to you that I would not let you anywhere near him if I had even the slightest reason to suspect otherwise,” he said slowly, firmly. “But if you decide that you want answers about your past... it is worth considering.”

“Right…” Ven swallowed, and he found it a little difficult to do. It wasn’t fear that gripped him, necessarily. While he, Sora, and the other wielders trusted Eraqus’ and Yen Sid’s judgment, they only trusted Xehanort about as far as they could throw him. Unease was a given. But for Ven in particular…

He remembered the final battle as clearly as anybody. He recalled the risks taken, the narrow misses, the scares and blood spilled and tears shed. The Lights and their companions had walked away victorious in the end, but it had cost them in other ways.

He remembered his last savage fight against Vanitas. He remembered leaping into the fray alongside Sora and Terra to take on Xehanort, and even in a three-on-one they had been sorely outmatched. Ven had discovered too late that Xehanort still held some power over his broken memory, needing only a word to send him into a vulnerable breakdown.

He remembered strong fingers closing hard around his throat like an iron trap, crushing the life out of him because the X-blade had been forged and at that point all of the gathered pieces were expendable--

Ven winced and broke forcibly from those thoughts. It wasn’t just that memory, either. He’d had a number of near-death experiences and he wouldn’t have called that the worst one -- but even though Xehanort had been an enemy for a long time now, there was still something personal in it for Ven, something that even went beyond having his life turned upside down and watching his friends -- his family -- be torn apart like they had. Maybe having been abandoned, betrayed, used, and nearly killed several times by somebody he had once idolized just left a worst taste in his mouth than he had thought.

But Xehanort had survived the encounter -- most of the fighters had -- and in the wake of having nothing left he had retired from the public eye. He could have died already and Ven wouldn’t have known; nobody still spoke with him, save Eraqus, who knew bringing him up would be doing no favors.

Seeing him again, _speaking_ to him again, at least willingly, had never crossed Ven’s mind.

Eraqus, having remained silent to let Ven sort out his thoughts, finally spoke again. “I’m not suggesting that you go alone, either. Considering the company he keeps, I would advise against _your_ going alone, in particular.”

Ven glanced at him, but said nothing, even though he didn’t think he had much to worry about in that regard. He’d proven himself beyond the proud need to defend his ability, anyway, and he knew that the warning was made in good judgment and honest concern.

“If you want to go at all,” Eraqus added. “That, too, is your choice.” Giving Ven’s knee a reassuring squeeze, he straightened up again, and then stood. “I’ve given you enough to think about today -- too much, I’m afraid. Consider these things, but don’t stress yourself.”

“Yes, Master.” Ven couldn’t keep his voice from sounding distant and distracted. It took him a few seconds, but then it suddenly clicked that Eraqus was standing, so Ven hastily climbed to his feet and stood to attention, shoulders straight as he bowed. Eraqus nodded lightly before turning to depart.

Ven remained where he was, his thoughts already threatening to overtake him again. He didn’t notice that Eraqus had stopped until he spoke. “And Ventus--”

“Oh -- yes?”

Eraqus didn’t turn around, but spoke over his shoulder from the doorway, as if in afterthought. “I admit that Xehanort has changed much since our childhood. I can no longer understand everything that he says or does, and even now I cannot say for certain what his intentions were in some of his past actions. And yet…” A subtle movement of his head suggested that he was looking down at the floor, but it quickly rose again. “I believe you were right to say that he was never cruel. Ambitious and ruthless, yes, but he is not the type to be cruel for cruelty’s sake. I would say that the respect he showed you as your master in the past was genuine… and that having faced you as an adversary has not corroded it in the slightest.”

Ven felt his lips part in surprise, but no words came. He wasn’t sure what to say, if anything. Fortunately, Eraqus wasn’t expecting a response, because he continued on his way without another word.

Sighing silently, Ven leaned back to stare at the high ceiling. “Enough to think about” was right. What he wanted to do with his life, and the possibility of confronting Xehanort -- and, to a degree maybe, confronting himself.

First things first, though, he quickly decided. He would talk with Terra and hear what he had to say on the first matter; there was a good chance that his decision would end up influencing Ven’s, after all.

“Right,” he said quietly to himself, turning to scan the bookshelves. “Find those books, find Terra, then--”

“Ventus.” He quickly turned to see Eraqus in the doorway again, appearing troubled. “Did you leave the kettle on, by any chance?”

There was a brief, still moment as that translated in Ven’s distracted mind.

And then he took off like a shot, leaping up the landing’s staircase and bolting through the door and past Eraqus -- only to slide to a squealing stop, turn around, hurry back to Eraqus, and offer a quick bow before whipping _back_ around and tearing down the hallway for the kitchen, where the kettle was hissing and screaming loud enough to already be heard.

~

**NOTES** : I seem to be in the tiny minority (by which I mean a group of three people total that I know about) who hope that Xehanort doesn't get killed in KH3, but is allowed a second chance at redemption (or would it be a third chance? ...Heck, probably more than that). Hence why he's still alive in this fic. Will he actually be a half-decent person and help Ven, if it comes to that? Well, that remains to be seen. |D


	2. Noon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When in doubt about major life decisions, always consult your (pseudo)parents.

Ven ducked and the Keyblade’s sharp edge passed narrowly over his head, nearly setting him off-balance. He caught himself and dove sideways for some breathing room, but his opponent anticipated it and swung again. This time Ven threw out a counter-strike, but it was hasty, clumsy, and his own Keyblade was nearly knocked from his grip. He exhaled sharply and shoved himself backwards, bracing his weapon with both hands as more blows landed, but none of them made it past his block.

He sidestepped the next swing and made a swift overhand stroke, but it was expertly parried and knocked aside. The onslaught resumed and he returned to playing defense again, frowning as his eyes followed each movement in search of an opening. Strength and speed didn’t always go hand-in-hand for a fighter, but this one had both qualities in spades, as Ven knew well.

The next clash came at the end of a two-handed blow that sent him staggering backwards. His right palm stung and a couple knuckles were nearly numb, but his adrenaline ignored it. “Looks like you’re in a good mood today,” he observed, trying and failing to mute his panting.

Standing up straight, Terra regarded him with a curious smile as he pulled his Keyblade back to his side. “What makes you say that?”

“When you hit this hard, you’re either in a really good mood or a really bad one,” Ven told him. He gave his weapon a quick, casual spin to stretch his stiff fingers. “And I’m pretty sure you’re not upset.” That was a huge understatement. Like himself, Terra had never been that good at hiding his feelings, and these days he usually didn’t try. They were all more open with each other than that.

Terra chuckled. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s been a while since you and I got to spar like this. Although,” he added with a thoughtful tilt of his head, “it looks like you might’ve gotten a little rusty since then.”

“Rusty?!” Ven glowered. “What d’you mean, r--” Suddenly Terra dashed forward and Ven had to move, fumbling to right his grip on his weapon so he could bring it up defensively. He was a second too late and the attempt was batted aside, nearly disarming him for the second time.

“C’mon, Ven! Don’t think you can go easy on me just yet.”

With a snort Ven recovered, hesitating only for the split-second needed to right his posture before charging on the offensive. Terra took a step back as he intercepted him, but then held his ground after that as they traded blows.

_Rusty, huh?_

On the plus side, Ven was usually the type to take criticism constructively, especially when it was issued as a challenge.

That had definitely been a challenge.

Leaping back, he hurled his Keyblade forward in a rapid Strike Raid. It spiraled towards Terra, but he brought his own weapon up and around to knock Lost Memory hard off-course and sent it barreling far out of reach. All the same, Ven took advantage of the distraction and darted in low, and as Terra turned back the look on his face said he was surprised by the maneuver. Ven called his Keyblade back to him in a flash of light and swung upward at Terra's middle, swift and two-handed this time.

But Terra was still fast, and he caught Ven's blade in his fist to stop it dead. Startled, Ven stared -- until he noticed the dark magic swirling around Terra's hand, which must have acted as a buffer. Ven flashed him a grin, impressed. "When'd you learn that?"

Terra shrugged a shoulder casually. "Just now." He wrenched Ven's Keyblade to the side -- and Ven along with it, who stumbled before recovering with a quick somersault that took advantage of the momentum. He came up on his knees and whirled in place, Keyblade rising in a parry as Terra bore down on him. Again their weapons clashed -- Ven’s arms nearly buckled under the weight and his bones hummed with the force of the impact, but he held his stance.

Kid gloves were now a thing of the past in their one-on-one matches. There was a notable difference in the way Terra had trained with him before versus the way he trained with him now -- a _huge_ difference. Ven hadn’t realized just how much his friend was holding back prior, and these days he usually had fewer clumsy scrapes and more sore joints to show for it.

Regardless, he enjoyed it. It felt as though they were equal now -- or if not equal, then something close -- and knowing that Terra deemed him worthy of the difficulty spike meant more to him than he could really express.

But in this situation, words didn’t mean much. Actions did.

Terra had him sorely outmatched in raw strength, but that was all right. One thing Ven had learned over time was that most opponents had a quality that could be used against them, if manipulated correctly.

With that in mind, he twisted his shoulders to lock the teeth of their Keyblades together -- and then slipped sideways to direct their joined blades to the ground, counting on Terra’s strength for most of the effort. For an instant the two wielders were shoulder-to-shoulder, but Ven was already a few steps ahead: he let go of his Keyblade and kicked hard off the ground, rolling across Terra’s back and landing on his other side. Terra recovered, but too late -- he looked up to find himself staring into Ven’s palm and a latent Aeroga spell. Ven didn’t release it, but he didn’t have to.

Match over.

His grin returned as Terra straightened up, broad shoulders relaxing. “Not bad.” He reached down to dislodge their Keyblades and offered Ven’s over hilt-first with a calculating smile. “Don’t be so reckless about letting go of your Keyblade, though. One of these days somebody’ll use it against you.”

“That’s why I don’t use it more than once against the same opponent,” Ven pointed out cheerfully. He took his weapon back and dismissed it in a flash. The spell faded from his fingers and he crossed his hands behind his head.

“Technically that was twice just now. But what happens when you run out of moves?” Terra wondered, cocking an eyebrow.

Ven laughed. “Gimme a break, Terra. That’s why I still train. And you know I’ve got plenty to work with already.”

Terra gave his shoulder a light punch as he passed, his own Keyblade disappearing as well. “Hey, I gotta check. Can’t let you get too full of yourself.” Ven almost stuck his tongue out, rethought it when he realized how very un-Master-like it was, and instead just swiveled on his heel to follow his friend across the plateau.

It was still their favorite place to spar, providing the weather allowed it. Terra had been away the last couple days, so Ven was glad when the spring warmth and sunshine persisted upon his return. He had wasted no time in inviting the older man to a friendly match, in this case favoring the privacy that the summit provided.

As worn out as he now was, his nerves and doubts felt more relaxed nonetheless. He almost always felt better after some exercise, and he had partly been counting on that confidence boost for the matter at hand.

Ven shrugged out of his long coat, glad for the breeze on his warm skin, and followed Terra’s lead in making his way to the usual cliffside. Together they took a seat and for about a minute just relaxed in silence, overlooking the mountain range as they caught their breaths and steadied their heartbeats.

It seemed as good a time as any. Ven glanced sidelong at his friend. "So," he started slowly, "Master Eraqus talked to me the other day."

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hmm. About the choice me and you have now."

Terra's easy poise perked up slightly. He returned Ven's glance, openly curious. "What d'you think?"

"I dunno." Leaning back on his hands, Ven stared skyward as he turned over the same thoughts he'd been having lately. "Or... I guess there's one thing I do know: this world's my home. I don't want that to change. But..." He chewed the inside of his lip. "But I do want to see more."

"You can do that, Ven. And come back whenever you want to."

Ven hummed and nodded. "I know. But I need to think about what I’m gonna do in the long run, too. The Master mentioned taking on students, so… I need to think about that.”

Surprisingly, Terra gave a low chuckle. When Ven shot him a look, he shook his head. “Now I get it. The whole time we were sparring, I could tell something was off -- you’re not rusty. You’re just distracted.”

_Oh. It was that obvious, huh?_

“But you’re really serious, aren’t you?” Terra went on. “Thinking about this.”

“Of course I am.” Ven couldn’t help getting a little defensive. It wasn’t _that_ out-of-place, was it? “This _is_ serious.”

“I know, I know. It’s just--” Terra did look genuinely apologetic, although amusement lingered on his face. “You’ve changed, you know? A little.”

“Since when?”

“Since being named Master. No--” Terra hesitated, reconsidering. “Before that. Since we came back.”

Ven cocked an eyebrow. He trusted Terra’s judgment, but he wasn’t sure how to take that. “Really?”

“Not in a bad way,” Terra assured him. “But if I take a step back and think about it, it’s pretty obvious. I’m around you all the time, so I guess I didn’t notice how much you’ve grown up.”

“Hey--!” Ven swiveled in his seat with an offended frown, probably contradicting the very impression that Terra was describing. “You make it sound like I was a kid before that.”

“You _were_ a kid before that.”

“You can’t talk, you’re not _that_ much older than m--augh!” He was cut off as Terra suddenly seized him in a headlock, pulling his face into his side and muffling the protest. Ven flailed and tried to pull free, but Terra’s grip didn’t so much as budge.

“I didn’t say you’re _still_ a kid,” said Terra coolly. “Even though you really are.”

“Nuh-uh!” Ven countered -- or tried to, anyway, but it came out sounding like _ner-er_. He gave up on his escape attempt and instead twisted his head to the side to speak more clearly. “Even the Master says I’m not a kid anymore!”

Terra released him and Ven jerked back, quickly running a hand through his flattened hair with a halfhearted glare. “Yeah, but you’re not as cheeky around the Master,” Terra pointed out with a grin.

Ven only made a grumbling, growling sound, but the annoyance quickly faded. “Well, grown-up or not, it’s still a big decision,” he went on. “I know I don’t have to decide now, but I don’t wanna end up waiting too long.”

“That makes sense. It’s good that you’re taking it this seriously, but don’t stress it.”

“Mm.” Scratching the back of his neck, Ven paused. He had a feeling he already knew what Terra’s answer would be, but that was the reason he’d called him out here today. “So, what are you going to do?”

Terra looked out over the mountain range, but his reply came quick. “I’m staying.” It was a resolute answer, giving away no doubt, and Ven couldn’t help envying that certainty a little. “I’ll do like Aqua and choose a student or two, eventually.”

“Eventually? You’re already teaching Riku.” Although a Master himself, Riku continued to address Terra and his friends each as _Master_ despite assurances that it wasn’t necessary. It was clear to Ven that he viewed Terra in particular as his superior.

“I think I’m more of a mentor than a teacher,” said Terra. “I’m helping him fine-tune some of his skills, but he already knew plenty before he came to me.”

“Hm…” That wasn’t too surprising to hear, really. Ven had seen Riku’s ability more than once, and it seemed to have more finesse to it than Sora’s.

“Not that I won’t leave occasionally,” Terra threw in with a glance at Ven. “But this world will be my priority.”

“You sound so sure,” Ven observed with a small smile. “Is that always what you’ve wanted to do?”

Terra nodded. “Aqua and I made a promise when we were little, way before you came around. We said we’d both be Masters and teachers, just like Master Eraqus. We wanted to look out for somebody else the same way he’s looked after us. Pass on the favor, sort of.”

“Heh…”

“What?”

“Nothing,” said Ven. “It’s just… really easy to picture.” Well, the promise was, but trying to imagine Terra and Aqua as little kids was kind of tough. Still, their loyalty and gratitude to Eraqus wasn’t surprising in the slightest.

 _Was I like that with Xehanort?_ he wondered suddenly. _I know I looked up to him, but… I can’t remember what I wanted to do. I don’t know if I even cared about becoming a Master back then. I was pretty young, so maybe not._

That thought brought up another matter, one that Ven had been equally preoccupied with lately, if not more so. He linked his fingers in his lap, cracking his knuckles to fill the uncertain silence as he once again turned to those thoughts.

Honestly, he was aware that he might have already decided. Despite his doubt and light skepticism when Eraqus had offered it, Ven may well have made the choice as early as that moment without knowing it at the time.

This was harder to talk about. Part of him wanted to discuss it out loud, part of him didn’t want to make his friends worry. He could keep it between himself and Eraqus, he knew, but he didn’t like keeping Terra and Aqua out of the loop -- and it would likely get back to them in some form or another, anyway.

He had plenty of time to address the rest of his life, but this issue didn’t have quite the same liberty. So before he could change his mind, Ven spoke up. “Terra?”

“Hm?”

Ven breathed in deep as if to prepare himself. Nobody was going to like this, he knew, but Terra would be the hardest to convince. "I'm… thinking. About visiting Xehanort."

Predictably, Terra's head whipped around to fix Ven with a hard look. "Xehanort? Why?"

The harsh tone was expected, so Ven didn't so much as flinch at it. "There are still some things I want to know," he said evenly, "and he's the only one who might be able to help."

Even in the corner of his eye, he could see Terra's expression shifting, divided and trying to decide on an emotion. He seemed to be holding back. After a few seconds he asked more calmly, “This is about your memory?”

Ven nodded. “Mm.” He wasn’t in the habit of keeping secrets, mostly, but that wasn’t one he could have hidden from his friends if he tried. The first of his recovered memories had struck while lying beside Terra one night -- even now, at seventeen, Ven retained the habit of seeking the comfort of company when he couldn’t sleep -- and there was really no disguising his cry of shock, or how shaken it had left him afterwards. Following that, he’d been pretty open about when new recollections came to him, especially since talking through them seemed to help.

“I thought more of it was coming back to you these days,” said Terra, watching him.

“It is. But that’s why I want to try.” Ven rubbed his hands together absently, now staring past them at the valley down below. “I don’t know how much I’ll remember. Nothing so far has been all that important, I don’t think, but… if that changes, and I miss my chance… I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering if I made a mistake.”

“And you really think Xehanort’s the only one who knows anything.” Terra’s tone was level, but tight, as if he was doing his best to reign in his disapproval.

“Right. I don’t remember anybody besides him. Maybe there never was anybody,” Ven mused more quietly. “But… Terra, I can already tell -- if I end up remembering a name, or a face… I’ll want to know.” He had once decided that his previous life didn’t matter anymore, as lost and distant as it was. Any people involved in it were long gone beyond his memory, and trying to grasp at those invisible threads was pointless.

But that was before now. Before his past had started catching up with him.

“So,” he continued, “I want to at least try. Even if--”

Terra suddenly placed a hand on his head, cutting him off and earning a curious look. “It’s all right, Ven. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Terra smiled -- a solemn smile that looked a lot like the Master’s -- and ruffled Ven’s hair like he used to. Grown-up or not, apparently some things never changed. “If that’s what your heart’s telling you, I can’t argue.”

Cracking a grateful smile, Ven laughed a brief, low, but happy laugh. “Thanks.”

“But,” Terra added as his hand fell away, “you shouldn’t go alone. I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to--”

“I want to.” While not unkind, Terra’s voice was stern and brooked no argument. “You can talk to him privately, but I want to be nearby.”

Ven let that hang in the air for a short pause, once again looking down past his knees at the scenery. Eraqus had said something similar. Thinking over that, Terra’s words, and the fact that Xehanort should have had no reason to threaten Ven personally at this point...

“...Xehanort’s not the one you’re worried about, is he?” Ven asked. He looked up and over, his serious expression saying he was already certain.

“I don’t trust either of them,” Terra clarified flatly. He closed that point of discussion by climbing to his feet, tapping Ven on the back as he went. “Just let me know when you want to go,” he said in a much lighter tone, even offering a casual smile. “I’ll make time.”

“Okay. Thanks, Terra.”


	3. Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware of dog.

As far as worlds went, The World That Never Was had to be the only one that Ven truly disliked.

Even the Keyblade Graveyard, with all its negative connotations, had a few decent memories to offset its depressing reputation. The World That Never Was, however, had an oppressive atmosphere that was as psychological as it was physical, giving the uneasy sensation of being watched from its dark alleys. Or maybe the dark shadows themselves were the source, teeming with actual Darkness, capital D, rather than the simple absence of light.

Whatever the case, stepping out of the Lanes and into the gloomy city was akin to walking face-first into a dense fog: Ven’s senses felt muffled, dulled, and the feeling only worsened as he dismissed his armor. Terra did the same a second later, the look on his face openly distrusting.

“Looks deserted,” he observed. Ven followed his sweeping glance. The foreboding climate notwithstanding, the city did seem empty, its streets devoid of people -- and other creatures -- and its buildings unlit. And yet, despite first impressions and the force intent on disrupting Ven’s perception, he picked up on one definite presence for sure much further in.

“It’s not,” Ven replied, his tone bordering on flat. “ _He’s_ here, at least. In the castle.” He paused, focusing, and then appeared to wince slightly. “And he knows we’re here.”

Terra made a sound somewhere between acknowledgement and annoyance. “You really sure about this, Ven?” he asked, his tone patient -- considerate -- despite his reinforced disapproval.

“Mm. I’m sure.” Simply jumping from one world to the next probably didn’t seem like a long journey to Terra, but the moment they had crossed over that threshold, Ven knew there was no turning back. If he gave into his misgivings now, he would never hear the end of it. He looked up at Terra uncertainly. “What about you? You really okay with being here?”

“I’m fine.” His eyes had narrowed slightly, still fixed on the pure-white spires rising in the distance, but his answer was steady.

Ven didn’t want to push, so he took it. “Okay!” He did his best to sound cheerful, but there was some force to his voice that he hoped Terra wouldn’t pick up on. “Then let’s get going!”

They met no resistance as they went, although the “being watched” sensation stuck with them the whole way. Keeping to the middle of the main road, Ven watched the front and right; Terra, the left and behind them. They were empty-handed, but that was purely diplomatic courtesy. Both were tensed and ready to summon at a moment’s notice.

The trek took less time than expected. Around half an hour after arriving in the world, they mounted the steep steps leading up to the castle doors. This, too, was apparently empty of life; once at the top, Terra turned to look back out over the city with a frown. “I thought there’d at least be somebody watching the entrance,” he murmured.

Ven studied the doors. He recognized the sigils carved into the marble, indicators of a spell that required a touch of magic from the one who wished to enter. Provided the castle’s owner approved of his presence, he would be granted or denied entry based on his magical signature.

He reached for the rightmost door, palm out and a light spell in his fingers -- but then his hand stopped just short and his shoulders went rigid with tension.

“...There is,” he replied. His arm retreating slowly to his side, Ven took a step back as he tilted his head to look up. “Isn’t that right, Vanitas?”

Terra’s reaction was more pronounced. Starting slightly, he quickly followed Ven’s gaze to the ledge above the entryway, a narrow outcropping of whitewashed stone with barely enough room for a person to stand -- but standing on it somebody was. Bright yellow eyes locked on Ven’s, a cutting grin revealing a hint of almost-approval at having been discovered.

“Good _job_ ,” Vanitas drawled, rocking back on his heels. With his hands in his pockets and his shoulders relaxed, he gave the visual of utter confidence and apathy. He scanned Ven from head to toe in a quick once-over. “What’d you do, trade in your naivete for that big boy’s outfit?”

“Maybe. Where’d you get yours?” Ven shot back, giving Vanitas the same scrutinizing glance. Same black-and-red color scheme, but now in clothes considerably more casual. They bore a distant resemblance to Sora’s, Ven immediately noticed. “Was that Xehanort’s bribe to keep you around as a guard dog?”

The words were barely out of his mouth when Vanitas landed in front of him -- nearly on top of him -- disregarding all boundaries of personal space as he regarded Ven evenly, his gaze narrow and that harsh smile still stuck in place. Despite that they were nearly nose-to-nose, Ven didn’t budge, much less back down.

At this short distance, especially, it was all too easy to catch a glimpse of Vanitas’ emotions: a flare of irritation, the restrained urge to lash out, and… amusement? Not quite, but something close. None of those showed on his face, however, and if not for the weird mind link they had going on -- something that had been in effect and unavoidable ever since their union over a decade ago -- Ven wouldn’t have guessed at any of them. He didn’t envy Vanitas for anything, but a small part of him had to admire that level of self-control.

After a terse, still pause, Vanitas finally blinked, chuckling as he looked over Ven’s shoulder. “You brought your own guard dog along, so I guess we’re all on equal ground, huh?” Ven tried his best to restrain his own flash of annoyance, but Vanitas’ sidelong glance and quirk in his grin said he’d picked up on it loud and clear. He knew where to aim when personal insults failed.

Before that could escalate any further, Terra spoke up, firmly. “We’re here to see your master.”

Vanitas’ eyes were again the only thing to move, but Ven detected that Terra’s word choice hadn’t gone over his head. “You don’t say?” Vanitas sneered. Despite that his focus was now on Terra, he remained standing in Ven’s personal bubble; even Ven wasn’t sure whether his aim was to cause discomfort or see who backed down first. “I got the memo about Ventus, but I wouldn’t have guessed you’d show your face here anytime soon.”

“Vanitas.” Ven’s remark was low, as much of a warning as his set glare. He couldn’t read Vanitas’ direct _thoughts_ , per se, but he was getting better at matching up emotions with his general character. He had a grim idea of where this was headed.

Unsurprisingly, Vanitas ignored him. “I’d watch my back if I were you,” he told Terra flippantly. “The Master could kick it any day now. You were such a good substitute the first time, he might decide t--”

_”Vanitas!”_

“It’s fine, Ven.”

Ven looked back at Terra, whose expression was grimly neutral. “Don’t worry about it,” he went on. “Let’s do what you came here for.”

With a disgruntled sound Ven turned back to Vanitas, who shrugged dismissively and finally fell back a step. “None of my business. But orders were to let Ventus in. Didn’t say anything about a guest.”

Ven scowled. “Hey, I’m not just gonna--”

“What, you need him to hold your hand the whole way?” Vanitas snapped. There was a glimpse of genuine anger there -- outwardly as well as inwardly -- and Ven didn’t hide his puzzled stare. Ever since the War, Vanitas seemed to have redirected the brunt of his hostility towards Terra for some reason; he certainly didn’t _like_ Ven now by any stretch of the imagination, but there was some borderline tolerance, at least, that hadn’t existed before. This was the first in a long time that Vanitas had been actually _mad_ , though, even if he smoothed it over a second later.

Before Ven could throw out a retort, Terra spoke up again. “If you’re alright with going alone, Ven, I’ll wait. It’s no big deal.” He met Vanitas’ stare head-on, and for a long moment neither of them blinked. “Just don’t let your guard down.”

Ven wavered, but he couldn’t overlook the possibility that these were indeed Xehanort’s orders. He doubted it, but it wasn’t impossible. “...Fine,” he said finally, stiffly. “I’ll try to make it fast.”

“Pfeh.” Vanitas didn’t hide that ambiguous sound as he placed a hand against the door. A moment later it swung outward, apparently of its own accord. “We’ll see.”

As he stepped inside, Ven sent one last glance back at Terra -- a glance that he hoped was confident and reassuring, although it may have only come off apologetic.

The inside of the castle was as barren as the outside. Rather than simply lacking people, like the city, it largely lacked any furnishings, as well. Despite the white walls, floors, ceilings, columns, and everything else, Ven immediately decided that it bore little resemblance to Castle Oblivion. The latter had carried a sense of safety and familiarity beneath its transformed surface, bearing a soothing blankness meant to do away with distraction and encourage peaceful sleep and rest; this place, on the other hand, felt cold. It wasn’t empty as a courtesy -- it was empty because it saw no purpose in comforts or personalization. It sought to serve its basic function as a living space and no more. It was a structure; nothing more, nothing less.

He kept those thoughts to himself, of course, content with the silence, but it wasn’t long before Vanitas spoke up.

“All that running away you did, and now you don’t even need any convincing to come crawling back. Imagine that.”

Ven shot him a thin look. “Don’t give me that. If you really don’t know why I’m here, I’m sure you’ve got a guess or two.”

Vanitas grunted, either amused or skeptical. “More than a guess. Only you would blow something like useless memories out of proportion.”

“Wanting to know more is ‘blowing things out of proportion?’ ”

“It is when it won’t change a thing.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Wordlessly, Vanitas turned a corner and Ven followed, resigned to trusting his lead. They walked side-by-side at a guarded arm’s length. “Whatever,” Vanitas remarked. “Waste your time if you want. But if you start flipping out over this, I’ll kick you out myself. It’s a real headache dealing with your spillover emotions.” It was clear from his tone that he thought it was Ven’s fault rather than a matter of circumstance. “You still overreact to everything like a kid.”

“Believe me,” said Ven sarcastically, “it’s not like I enjoy getting a notice every time you create an Unversed, either.” He glanced over. “Why’d you make so many last month, anyway?” It had worried him at first, but there were no reports of any sightings by other wielders or even civilian contacts. Before then he’d only detected them once in a while, and in very small numbers, but it was clarified long before now that Vanitas was also chipping in on the Heartless problem. Not out of any sense of justice or urge to do good, but because they were something to test himself against -- and Ven knew firsthand that Vanitas’ destructive tendencies hadn’t ended with becoming his own person again. It wasn’t a good reason, but they did need all the help they could get.

Returning the look, Vanitas only smirked that irritating smirk. “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe if you could read me better, you’d have an idea.”

“Like I’d _want_ to.”

Again Vanitas chuckled, but it was a low, dark sound. Ven didn’t need their mental link to guess that a below-the-belt shot was coming. “I guess you wouldn’t,” Vanitas mused. “You’re too busy _reading_ somebody else lately, aren’t you?”

Ven’s right hand twitched, but he remained silent and kept his eyes on the corridor ahead. He had predicted this before now.

“And here I thought you might be too good and pure-hearted to ever get hot and bothered. Congratulations.”

“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not like that,” Ven snapped. Coming from anybody else, that would have been flustering or at least mildly embarrassing -- but Ven and Vanitas were, by definition, an extension of one another, having shared a heart in the past on top of sharing a mind, somewhat, in the present. There were certain social barriers that didn’t exist between them, just as the average person had no social barriers between himself and that annoying voice in the back of his head.

That was the best comparison Ven could think of, anyway. But it didn’t mean he was all right with Vanitas toeing those lines.

“I can’t actually tell who she is,” Vanitas went on almost conversationally, although that in itself was annoying. They turned onto a staircase heading upward. “Not exactly, anyway. Your feelings around her bleed over into others. It’s too indistinct, which means… it must be somebody who looks a lot like somebody else.”

Ven ignored him.

“Kairi or one of her copies, I’d guess.”

Ven did his absolute best to clear his mind, trying to reign in his emotions and prevent any reactions. He turned his thoughts to anything and everything else, intent on pretending Vanitas didn’t exist.

He caught the flash of a crooked grin in the corner of his eye. “You’re trying to shut me out, aren’t you?”

Ven said nothing.

“Let’s see how well you do. It’s not Kairi, I don’t think.”

_Don’t, don’t, don’t -- don’t think, ignore him--_

“...No, not her,” Vanitas decided. “The blonde Nobody, maybe?”

“Stop it,” Ven snapped.

“That’s not good enough, Ventus. It’s not her, either -- which leaves the other one.”

Anger boiled deep in his chest, but Ven struggled to smother it.

“Bingo,” Vanitas announced, sounding bored. “You’ve still got a long way to go, unfortunately for me.”

Unable to help himself, and hoping to change the subject, Ven echoed skeptically, “For you?”

“Like I said, I don’t _want_ to know your mood twenty-four hours a day. But until you either die or decide to grow up, it looks like I’m screwed.”

“What, you call yourself an adult just because you think you’re too good to have emotions?”

Vanitas suddenly stopped. Puzzled, Ven did the same a step later and turned to face him, but Vanitas’ face was utterly blank.

“Xion, isn’t it?”

Ven stiffened, glared, and then quickly looked aside, once again trying to stifle his inner reactions.

“A little late for that,” said Vanitas tonelessly. “So why her, anyway? You feel sorry for her, being a copy and all?”

_Shut up, shut up, don’t--_

“Or did she come to you first? Maybe she’s a weakling like you were back then, pathetic and clinging to other people for a purpose. Then again, you’re probably just a substitute Roxas in her--”

The anger boiled over. Ven moved, in the blink of an eye throwing an arm across Vanitas’ chest and shoving him back against the wall. Oddly, Vanitas didn’t dodge -- didn’t even try, didn’t put up a fight. He only regarded Ven evenly, calm and indifferent to the glare staring him down. Finally, slowly, he smirked.

“You’re too easy.”

Ven wavered. Had Vanitas been testing him?

Vanitas reached up, the motion lazy, and took hold of Ven’s wrist in a hard grip. His tone turned cold to match as his mocking smile faded. “Don’t preach to me about _feelings_ when they’re your biggest weakness.” In a swift, sharp motion he jerked Ven’s arm to the left as he stepped to the right, slipping easily out from under the pin-hold. Ven caught himself after a brief stumble, but didn’t lash out. They watched each other warily, the tension in the air much thicker than it had been a minute ago.

“It’s not that I don’t _have_ emotions, idiot,” said Vanitas coolly, contrary to an inner flicker of annoyance. “You should know that better than anybody now. I’m just mature enough to control them. That’s why you’ll never manipulate me by using mine against me -- unlike _you_ and your _friends_ , who were such willing chess pieces for that reason.” His eyes seemed to darken. “Nothing’s changed, either, has it? But instead of my Master yanking your chain, now it’s your past. No matter how you slice it, the same thing that gives you _power_ also keeps you on a short leash.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and continued on his way. Ven hesitated, letting his own irritation cool first as he tried not to think too hard on those harsh words, and then followed a few steps behind.

Neither said a word the rest of the way, but it was only another half a minute of walking. Vanitas slowed to a stop as they approached a second, smaller set of double doors, as white as anything else in the place. Ven did the same and patiently hung back as Vanitas pulled them open.

“Master. He’s here.”

There was no reply -- none that Ven could hear -- but a moment later Vanitas moved to the side, glaring at Ven with his head canted in a way that managed to be both indicative and spiteful at the same time. Ven stepped past him and over the threshold; right before the doors closed and separated them, Vanitas offered one final, low, and sarcastic remark:

“ _Try_ not to break down.”

 

~

****  
  
**NOTES** : I JUST REALLY, _REALLY_ LIKE THE IDEA OF VEN AND VANITAS BEING ABLE TO READ EACH OTHER’S THOUGHTS IN KH3 OKAY


	4. Twilight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never expect anything for nothing.

Ven blinked as his eyes took in the new room. He’d been expecting more white, more blank walls and empty space. Surprisingly, it was nothing like that.

The room was vast: high ceiling, distant walls, and plenty of space in-between, but there was no stark, monochromatic color scheme here. Red carpet replaced the previous white marble; the walls were lined with wooden bookshelves, although only half appeared to be in use. Some were crammed with so many volumes and knick-knacks that they looked ready to collapse, whilst others were completely empty. There were a couple small tables, a handful of chairs, and one long, rectangular table by the fireplace, which was currently lit. The flames were the only source of light, casting everything in a warm -- though somewhat eerie -- orange glow.

A study, Ven quickly realized. He had to throw a quick glance back over his shoulder, wondering whether he had stepped through a portal of some kind on the way in, but the enormous white door remained the same. After the monotony of the halls below, it was hard to believe this was the same castle.

Taking a deep, silent breath, he started across the room. It was quiet, silent even, except for his footsteps and the crackle of the fireplace. He wasn’t a jumpy person by nature, but the long shadows cast by the shelves made him a little uneasy, not least of all because he hadn’t spotted anybody yet.

Reaching the long table, he stopped. Its oak surface was polished enough to make out his reflection. He ran his fingers along the smooth wood, letting out a short sigh as he cast another glance around. It occurred to him that the colors here, the style, the overall layout of the furnishings -- it resembled the library in the Land of Departure, somewhat.

“So… we meet yet again, boy.”

Ven stiffened and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Despite Eraqus’ assurances of safe passage, despite Terra’s distant presence, despite his own confidence that he had nothing to fear, he whipped around at the height of his speed with shoulders tensed and his face grimly alert.

As ever, Xehanort’s stooped posture was one of casual formality as he emerged from between two shelves -- despite that Ven was almost entirely certain that he hadn’t been there five seconds ago. He looked much the same as he had the last time they’d met. That same neutral mask of a smile was in place, hiding whatever thoughts the old Master might have been entertaining behind it. His bright yellow eyes, unnervingly identical to Vanitas’, seemed to press a weight onto Ven’s shoulders as they locked onto him.

“Or should I say ‘young man’ now?”

For all his mental preparation for this, the sight of Xehanort touched something in the shadows of Ven’s heart, something deep and raw and discomposed. A small, brief bolt of pain shot up the base of his skull to his forehead and he winced slightly. Regardless, he quickly found his voice.

“Xehanort.” It wasn’t a greeting as much as acknowledgement -- and the lack of a title there wasn’t as much blatant disrespect as it was unconscious habit. Xehanort had long since ceased to be “Master” in Ven’s eyes.

That unpleasant smile quirked slightly, but Xehanort turned aside and took a few steps toward the fireplace, releasing Ven from his heavy stare. “I thought you might come around eventually. But I admit, you were not the first one I expected.”

Ven was tempted to ask whom it was he’d been predicting, but he refrained. It wasn’t his business, and for some reason he had the uneasy feeling that he didn’t _want_ to know.

“It’s coming back to you that quickly, is it?” Xehanort inquired coolly.

Again Ven tensed, and then reminded himself that this was the reason he was here. It would be uncomfortable, but he needed to be honest. “How much did Master Eraqus tell you?”

“He told me enough. I assume your memories from before are returning.”

“...Yeah.”

Xehanort glanced over his shoulder. “And what is it you hope to find here?”

Ven hesitated, but then forcefully swallowed his doubt and discomfort. “Answers,” he replied. Then he admitted, “I don’t know where else to go.”

“Hmm.” It was difficult to gauge the emotion in that sound: thoughtful, skeptical, annoyed? Ven had no idea. Rather than responding, Xehanort made his way to the chair at the head of the large table and sat, his movements slower and stiffer than Ven remembered.

Again Ven hesitated, but Xehanort indicated the seat at his right hand. “Sit. Or don’t, if you’d rather,” he added indifferently. “But you’ve come this far, so there isn’t much more security in standing than sitting.”

Ven wasn’t sure if that was a shaded threat or simply acknowledging his unease, but Xehanort had a point. He pulled out the indicated chair and took it, ignoring his instincts as they screamed that he was too close, too relaxed, too vulnerable--

“How much trouble was Vanitas?” asked Xehanort.

Cocking a surprised eyebrow, Ven recovered and shook his head. “Uh… no more than usual, I guess. Not as much as he could be.” He paused. “I’m... kind of surprised he’s still here, actually.”

“He has nowhere else to go.” There was no pity or concern in Xehanort’s tone; it was simply matter-of-fact, as though this were an obvious truth. “Like anybody, he needs a purpose, and familiarity is always the best starting point.”

Ven didn’t hide his confusion. “You mean he _chose_ to stay with you?”

“I did not twist his arm, if that’s what you are thinking. He _is_ of my making, so I do not deny responsibility in the matter; I gave him some incentive to remain, but nothing more.”

_Incentive…?_ Ven frowned. As far as he knew, Vanitas was assisting with the Heartless problem to kill time, but that was it--

He straightened up a little as a thought occurred to him.

“Wait a minute. He’s not still training under you, is he?”

Leaning his temple against his fist, Xehanort gave a thin smile. “Like yourself, Vanitas has much power, much untapped potential. More than I initially estimated. It would be a shame to let that go to waste.” When Ven’s face darkened, Xehanort added, “Or perhaps you would prefer to have him explore his abilities on his own -- unguided and unrestrained?”

“N-No, but…”

“You can sense it, can’t you? He hides it well -- remarkably so, considering his nature -- but you of all people should know what he is truly like.”

Ven averted his gaze, and then closed his eyes briefly. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Xehanort would know about his bond with Vanitas, but it was a little frustrating all the same. His past was already an open book to this man; did his present have to be, too?

“Why are we talking about Vanitas?” he asked finally, impatiently, as he looked up again.

“Because I know what you’re thinking, Ventus. Eraqus has voiced no concerns to me as of yet, but I’m certain he has them, as well.” When Ven didn’t interrupt, Xehanort continued, “One of these days, I will pass on. Don’t look so shocked, boy. Men of my age don’t shy away from the inevitability of death. And whether it occurs sooner or later, Vanitas will be left without a guidepost.”

_A leash is more like it._

“I’m certain you can imagine the worst-case scenario of such a circumstance.”

Ven’s irritation was quickly flaring into anger. Anger at Vanitas, anger at Xehanort for acting like he cared -- about Vanitas, about the well-being of the worlds -- and anger at feeling as though he’d just willingly backed himself into a corner by coming here.

“Worst-case scenario is that he comes after me,” said Ven shortly. “I’m the one he hates more than anything else. If it comes to that, I’ll deal with it.”

“Will you?” Xehanort looked vaguely amused. “I wonder. Despite your bond, you still manage to misunderstand him entirely.”

“Misunderstand--?”

“And I’ll tell you now, lad, there’s nothing more difficult than trying to defeat an enemy you know nothing about.”

Ven stared, utterly at a loss. What was this, a warning? Or…

No...

“...What do you want?” he asked slowly. Xehanort held his gaze evenly for several long seconds, up to the point that it almost became awkward.

“You said you came here for answers,” he replied at length. “If your heart is truly set on it, I’ll attempt to help you find them. But there are two things you should know.” He held up two gloved fingers. As he spoke, he lowered one. “Whatever scraps you have recovered in the last few years, whatever suspicions you may have about your origins, and whatever you think of Vanitas these days, he’s tied more closely to your past than you could possibly realize. If you knew the details already, I believe you would have approached me much differently today.”

More question marks instantly rose in Ven’s mind and he frowned, puzzled, but Xehanort continued. “And--” He lowered the second finger. “--if I do you this favor, there is one I expect in return, regardless of whether you appreciate or regret what you learn.”

“ _Favor?_ ” Ven blurted. Didn’t Xehanort owe him in the first place? Wasn’t Ven here scrambling for answers _because_ of him? He set his teeth on edge without meaning to, wary and suspicious and more than a little slighted. Xehanort was unfazed and only waited.

It took him a few moments to cool down from that flare of temper, but Ven managed. Regardless, he couldn’t keep the tautness out of his voice. “What do you want?” he repeated more quietly.

“For you to take on your share of our responsibility, once it is time.”

Ven was silent, letting that sink in. He didn’t need to think too hard on what that meant. “...You want me to -- what? Watch Vanitas?” He wasn’t sure what offended him more: the very idea, or the fact that Xehanort had referred to him as “ _our_ responsibility.” Ven didn’t deny that he felt some ownership for Vanitas, so to speak, with regards to his actions, which was why he was more than willing to deal with him if and when necessary -- but that wasn’t Xehanort’s call to make. “That’s impossible,” he said flatly. “I can’t control him like you do.”

“Hm. If you think ‘control’ has anything to do with it, you are once again sorely mistaken.” Rather than angry, Xehanort just seemed slightly exasperated. “You’ll never learn anything about others, much less yourself, unless you remove those naive blinders.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Ven’s voice was rising. The last time they had fought, he and Vanitas were all but evenly matched, and now it came out that they’d _both_ been training since then. Keeping him in line via brute force wasn’t an option -- and Vanitas or not, Ven wouldn’t feel right trying.

More than that, though -- if Vanitas really was a burden or a threat or whatever, why would Xehanort even bother finding somebody to watch over him? He’d thrown people aside so easily in the past, so why was now any different? Why was _Vanitas_ any different? And why did he care what happened after he died?

“You mentioned incentive,” Ven went on, “but that won’t work for me. I told you, he hates me too much to listen to me--”

“A moment ago you claimed that you would take his life if necessary,” said Xehanort coolly. “But would you be willing to spare it if the need arose?”

“What?”

“And you speak of his hate for you as though it is the limiting factor. He would say the same of you.”

The more Xehanort spoke, the less sense any of this made. Ven had come for answers and so far he’d only acquired twice as many questions. “Why do you even care?” he asked bluntly. “Why does any of this matter to you?”

Slowly, Xehanort linked his fingers together in front of his mouth, a posture of solemn consideration. Ven waited, holding that penetrating stare without so much as blinking now.

“When you understand that,” Xehanort replied, “the rest will come more easily.” Before Ven’s impatience could flare up again, the old man added, “Go home for today, Ventus. Your heart’s too restless to make this decision in one sitting. Think on what I’ve proposed; decide how deep your desire for answers truly runs. Should you choose to pursue this matter in earnest, this world will be open to you from now on.”

An objection rose in Ven’s throat, but he bit it back. If his agitation didn’t faze Xehanort before, it wouldn’t now. He still couldn’t see it, but there was some odd logic at work in Xehanort’s words; at any rate, perhaps cooling off and clearing his head for the night would help him think better.

“...Right.”

Ven pushed back his chair and rose -- and then lingered where he was for an uncertain moment. Xehanort may not have had the right to such a gesture anymore, but Eraqus had raised a better student than that.

Stiffly, Ven offered a short bow, and then turned to leave without waiting to see the look on Xehanort’s face.

* * *

“That was fast. Or did you screw up already?”

Vanitas was at the bottom of the staircase, leaning back against the banister with arms crossed. His legs were stretched out across the last step, purposely blocking any traffic.

Without sparing him so much as a glance, Ventus hopped over him to continue on his way. Vanitas’ narrow eyes followed him, his condescending smirk still in place. Ventus had started oozing frustration and confusion barely five minutes into that meeting; while he’d sedated it a bit on the way out, he was still harboring a mini-storm underneath that serious face. At the sound of Vanitas’ voice, something close to pure anger kindled brightly and then died again just as quickly.

Interesting. Vanitas had to admit he was curious, but only slightly. Watching Ventus slink off with his tail between his legs was enough entertainment for one day.

Then again, one more couldn’t hurt.

“Does this deserve an I-told-you-so?” he called.

Another flash of almost-anger. “I’ll be back,” Ventus snapped without turning around.

Huh.

Shrugging to himself, Vanitas pushed off the railing and turned to head back up. Whatever.


	5. Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."

_”Uggghhhh.”_

Rather dramatically, Ven threw himself backwards to sprawl across Aqua’s bed and glare up at the ceiling with tired eyes.

“Why does everything have to turn into such a…” One arm flounced overhead as he struggled for the right word. “...such a _thing_ with him?”

There was a warm chuckle from the floor. “Sorry, Ven. I don’t mean to laugh, but you knew it wasn’t going to be simple.”

Ven leaned back until his head hung over the mattress edge, giving him an upside-down view of Aqua. She sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by books and different colored sheets of paper. Like himself, she’d stripped down to her black shorts and undershirt to escape the evening heat.

“Yeah,” he grumbled, “but I didn’t think he’d throw something like _that_ at me. I thought the worst that could happen was that he’d say no.”

“Well, that’s something to be thankful for, isn’t it? At least you still have options.”

“Not very good ones,” Ven muttered, redirecting his frown back to the ceiling. He knew he was whining, but _dang_ if he wasn’t still moody over the whole ordeal. He and Terra had returned home from the World That Never Was a few hours ago, and since then he’d thought about nothing else.

Aqua reached over and scratched his head affectionately. These days she didn’t really ruffle his hair as much as she would run her fingers through it, but it was still a playful and comforting gesture. “Tell me again, Ven. Are you sure that’s what he meant?”

“That’s pretty much the only part I _did_ understand. If he helps me out, then he wants me to take responsibility for Vanitas, eventually. He says it’s _my_ responsibility.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “That’s a strange request,” she mused. “It’s even stranger that he asked _you_ specifically. I would’ve thought Master Eraqus or Master Yen Sid would be more appropriate.”

“Maybe they already said no.”

“Maybe.” She sounded doubtful. “How are you and Vanitas getting along these days?”

“We’re not,” Ven replied flatly. Then he hesitated. “Well… better than before, I guess. But that’s not saying much.”

“You haven’t fought each other lately,” she pointed out. Then, uncertainly, “...Have you?”

Ven thought back to that afternoon, to the brief scuffle he’d had with Vanitas in his moment of provoked agitation. It was nothing compared to the past, but if he was being entirely honest... “Not… exactly…”

Aqua sighed lightly.

Well, that was probably enough about him for the moment, anyway. Rolling onto his stomach, Ven set his chin on his crossed arms and looked down at Aqua’s compiled mess. “How’s the lesson planning going?”

“Good,” she said brightly. “We’re covering the material faster than I expected, so it’s keeping me busy.”

He smiled at her. Like Terra and himself, she didn’t shy away from hard work, but more than that Ven could tell she really enjoyed this. “Terra mentioned you two made a promise when you were kids,” he recalled. “You both wanted to teach.”

“Mm-hm. We always imagined me teaching in the classroom while he gave the hands-on lessons.”

Ven laughed. It was hard to picture Aqua staying indoors all the time. “So what d’you think? Is it what you expected?”

“Well, there’s a lot more scheduling involved than I thought,” she replied with a wry twist of her smile, “but yes. I’m enjoying it. I just never pictured taking on three students at the very start.”

“Is it hard?”

Aqua hummed thoughtfully, tapping her pen against her knee. “I don’t really think of it as work, so I wouldn’t call it difficult. But it’s not something you can take lightly, either.” Fondly, she added, “But they’re all fast learners, so that makes my part easier.”

“Oh, yeah?”

She nodded. “Actually, I was hoping you could lend me a hand sometime. It wouldn’t hurt to properly expose them to a fighting style other than mine.”

Ven instantly perked up. “Really?”

“Of course. Terra’s helped some, but more variety would be good. And if any of them have an inclination towards quick attacks, it’ll be easier to pinpoint with you as the example.”

“Sure thing!” he said cheerfully. “I’d be glad to. I’m curious how much they’ve improved, too.”

“It might help you decide what you want to do, too,” Aqua suggested. “Whether you want to take an apprentice yourself one day.”

Ven bobbed his head, but it lacked his previous enthusiasm, as did his shrinking smile. “Maybe,” he mused. “But I guess that all depends on what I decide about Xehanort.”

“Hm?”

“If I end up babysitting Vanitas, bringing in somebody else is out of the question.” Not because of time constraints -- although that was also a reason -- but Ven didn’t want to set Vanitas’ hostile sights on yet another person. In an act of malice, the ultimate low-blow would be to target an untrained student, and Ven didn’t put that past him at all.

Frowning, Aqua set aside the open book in her hand and turned to face him fully. She pulled her knees to her chest, indicating he had both her undivided attention and her brain pitching in on the thought process.

“Do you really think Xehanort expects you to do that for the rest of your life?” she wondered. “Even if it’s to find out about your past… that’s not a fair trade.”

_Nobody ever said Xehanort played fair_ , Ven thought. Out loud, he only said, “I don’t know what else he could’ve meant.” He draped his arms over the bed’s edge, fingertips distractedly grazing the rug. “The way he was talking, it sounds like he doesn’t control Vanitas by force. He keeps him in line by making some kind of deal with him.”

“A deal?”

“Uh-huh. Turns out he’s still training him.”

Aqua was silent.

“But I can’t do that,” Ven went on. “Even if I could, why should I help him get stronger? And it’s not like he’d accept, anyway.”

“Maybe he would.”

Blinking, Ven raised his head to give Aqua a hard and puzzled stare. “What?”

She hesitated, seeming to consider her words. “Well… Xehanort’s no fool, and he knows Vanitas at least as well as you do. If he’s proposing this to you, there are two possibilities: either he knows full well that there’s no way you two could cooperate, which would mean he’s obviously planning something -- or he thinks there really is a solution.”

As terribly unlikely as the latter seemed, Ven realized he couldn’t completely rule it out. As Aqua had said, it wasn’t a fair deal in the slightest, so Xehanort couldn’t _really_ expect him to sacrifice so much… could he? And if this _was_ some kind of betrayal in the works, he wasn’t being nearly as subtle about it as he could have been. On the contrary, looking back, it felt as though he had been intentionally difficult and obstinate, as opposed to resorting to smooth-talking and outright lies.

Groaning, Ven pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “If there is, I wish he would’ve just told me. But he expects me to agree without even knowing all the details.”

“What about Vanitas? Does he know about this?”

“I don’t… think so,” said Ven uncertainly. “I didn’t get that impression, anyway. But I’m sure he wouldn’t like this any more than I do.”

“Maybe not,” Aqua murmured thoughtfully. “But, Ven -- are you really sure there’s nothing Vanitas would want from you? Something you could agree on, even?”

He snorted quietly before he could stop himself, but then for Aqua’s sake he considered the question seriously. Despite being able to all but see into Vanitas’ mind, Ven still found him to be a big question mark. He enjoyed fighting -- a little too much -- and he liked getting stronger. Along with mocking Terra and getting on Ven’s nerves, those seemed to be his only hobbies.

In the past, there had been only two things that Vanitas wanted from him: the forging of the X-blade, and his death. In no particular order, Ven imagined. But with the War past, the X-blade forever banished, and Xehanort’s previous ambitions at an end, that should have ruled out the weapon. As for the other thing…

Well. As noted before, Vanitas seemed more aggressive towards Terra lately, and he had made no serious attempts on Ven’s life since their last big battle.

Barring those, he really had no idea what somebody like Vanitas could want, least of all from himself.

“...I don’t know,” he said slowly. “He’s… a little different now, I can tell that much.”

“Different how?”

Ven wrinkled his nose, and then closed his eyes, trying to put those mental glimpses into words. “He’s still… dark. And there’s still a lot of negativity inside. And he’s still a jerk,” he made sure to add. “But… well, it’s kind of hard to explain -- but whenever I was around him before, everything felt wrong. It bothered me, I guess, being around that much darkness. It was really uncomfortable.” He raised his head again, blinking in the soft light for a few seconds. “Now… I’m still not comfortable around him, but it’s different now. It’s like I feel _him_ more than his darkness these days.”

“He... _feels_ different?” Aqua echoed.

“Uh-huh. His… power, I guess?” Ven tried, unsure. “I can sense it, but it’s separate from his darkness. Even his feelings are a little different, too. Back at the Graveyard -- during the War, I mean -- it was like his emotions were pouring out.” There had been so much hate and rage despite Vanitas’ cool exterior; it had been distracting, and more than once Ven had nearly been overwhelmed by it. “But now… It might be that he’s just controlling them better, but he feels calmer now.”

Aqua’s expression was difficult to read. She looked contemplative, uncertain, and a little concerned. Ven suddenly wondered how weird he must have sounded -- how weird he must have _been_ , talking about a mental link as though it were the most normal thing in the world for him. (Which it was starting to become, unnervingly enough.)

“So you’re saying he feels more human now,” she proposed.

“He’s always been human,” said Ven, quickly enough that it sounded defensive. Surprised at himself, he frowned, unsure where that conviction had come from.

“Of course,” Aqua replied gently, looking a bit surprised herself. “I didn’t mean he wasn’t.” Once, Ven would have overlooked the awkward silence after her words, but now he could read it and understood what wasn’t being said.

He saved them both the trouble and said it out loud. “I hate to admit it, but he’s as much a part of me as I am. Or he was, before everything that happened.” As tempting and easy as it was to write Vanitas off as a monster, Ven knew better these days. He knew that doing so would mean admitting that he himself had been a monster for harboring that much darkness inside once.

Terra and Aqua would argue against him on that point, he was sure, so he kept that to himself. Instead, he mused, “But if he’s a person like anybody else, then you’re right -- there has to be something he wants. Even for him, there’s got to be more to life than power and fighting.”

Maybe. Then again, Vanitas was far from possessing the most stable mind in the World.

“Xehanort did say that Vanitas is tied to my past. Maybe… that has something to do with it?” Ven exhaled heavily. This was getting him nowhere. “I dunno… Maybe he was right,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. “Maybe I am blowing all this memory stuff out of proportion. If it’s this much trouble…”

Maybe he wasn’t meant to dig up the past, after all.

In the corner of his eye, Aqua chewed her lip, looking troubled. “What?” he inquired.

She looked at him, and then at the far wall, and then back at him. “Nothing, I just -- well…”

“What is it, Aqua?” He leaned up on his elbows again, attentive and curious.

“I’m not… saying you should trust either one of them, Ven,” she began slowly. “I advise against it, actually. But… Xehanort does have a point: one day he won’t be here. When that happens, Vanitas… he might end up becoming your problem either way.”

That was true. Even if Ven turned his back on him from here on out, there was no guarantee Vanitas would do the same, just like there was no guarantee that he would continue assisting the right side in the Heartless conflict. If he turned, Ven wouldn’t be able to ignore that.

“In that case, you might not have anything to lose by agreeing,” said Aqua. “Especially if Xehanort does have something in mind.” She suddenly glanced aside, her bright blue eyes hardening slightly, grimly. Ven recognized that look. “Either way, I think Vanitas will either continue like he’s been doing, or he’ll become a threat. If he does move against us…”

“I know.” Ven kept his face carefully neutral. He didn’t need her to euphemize the matter. “I know what we’d have to do.”

“But,” she continued, returning her gaze to his face, “if there’s a chance we can avoid that…” They held one another’s stares for a long moment. Finally Aqua sighed. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Ven. It’s a hard choice, but only you can make it.”

“It’s okay.” Ven reached down and took her hand in his. With a reassuring smile, he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Talking about it helped. Thanks.”

She gripped his hand back and returned the smile, but it was a sympathetic, sad one. “I just wish I could do more.”

“You’ve done plenty.” With that, Ven rolled over and hopped to his feet.

“Where you going?”

“Out for a bit,” he replied. “Just need to clear my head.”

He didn’t miss the concern in Aqua’s eyes as she asked, “Want some company?”

He shook his head. “It’s okay. I don’t wanna interrupt your work. And I won’t be long,” he promised.

“...All right. But I’m glad to talk some more if you want to. It’s no trouble, Ven.”

After snatching his overshirt and jacket off her chair, he paused in the doorway just long enough to flash her a grin and a brief salute before disappearing.


	6. Nightfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _we’re all see-through just like glass  
>  and we can shatter just as fast_

“I accept.”

That simple phrase held more weight than Ven would have expected. He almost had trouble getting it out of his mouth, his voice sounding odd and distant in his own ears. Something in his chest twisted sharply as though in objection.

The words seemed to hit the silence of the study and fall flat. Across the way, Xehanort was seated at his table and watching him with a look that was impossible to interpret. Ven held it, any lingering doubt forcefully subdued and -- hopefully -- not showing on his face. He half-expected Xehanort to make some remark about having predicted his cooperation, but after a heavy pause the old man only made a light sound of acknowledgement.

“Very well. But we can save the details of the secondary matter for another day; I presume you’re more concerned with your first reason for coming here.”

Ven didn’t like how quickly the topic was brushed off, but he was admittedly relieved nonetheless. As frustrating as the last week had been as he went back and forth between his options, he didn’t mind the opportunity to redirect focus back to his priority.

So for the second time he joined Xehanort at the table, taking the chair on his right once again. His nerves weren’t quite as tightly wound as before, but he was still far from relaxed.

“Now then. What is it that you wish to learn? Answers, yes,” Xehanort added with a dismissive wave. “So you say, but that is too vague a concept, lad. Memory is a fragile thing: too much meddling and it may crack beneath the strain. But take too much care and you risk losing much of what you hoped to save.”

Ven tried to keep his face neutral. “I don’t -- know,” he said haltingly. “I mean -- I guess I’m not really sure where to start. Anything would be fine at this point.”

“Hm.” The sound was ambivalent, but Xehanort looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“Look, I’m sorry if I’m not much help. But that’s--” _\--why I’m here._ “I’m trying,” Ven finished lamely.

“Don’t mistake me for Eraqus. Until you achieve something worthwhile, _trying_ means nothing.”

Ven translated that just fine: he couldn’t expect any coddling on the matter. That was all right by him; if Xehanort was too helpful, it would have been suspicious, anyway.

_Okay. Where to start?_ Ven was silent for a contemplative moment, staring down at the firelight flickering across the rug. _...The beginning, I guess? It’s as good a point as any._

“Where did you find me?” he asked finally, turning to the old Master once more. “And… why? Why did you choose me?”

The light shade of skepticism in Xehanort’s expression seemed to fade. Hopefully that was a sign of cooperation, or at least approval. He, too, glanced away in thought, sidelong at the fire. “It was a long time ago, at least for you. How old are you now?”

“Seventeen.” Ven couldn’t swear by it, though. Like his name, it was something he seemed to have just _known_ for as long as he could remember. His actual birthday was a mystery; he’d learned recently that his friends had always celebrated it as the day he first came to the Land of Departure.

And that wasn’t including the complication of technically being thirteen years older than he looked.

Xehanort, however, seemed to think that answer satisfactory. He hummed thoughtfully. “You would have been seven years old when we first met,” he deduced. “However, I did not bequeath you with a Keyblade until the year after that.”

Ven had decided he would stay quiet unless questioned, but his curiosity took over then. “Why?”

“I wasn’t about to take just any urchin off the street, let alone give him such power. I had to be certain my guesses about you were correct.”

_Urchin. Street._

“I was alone?” Ven asked slowly.

“You were not on your own, no. There were other children in the city, often flocked around you. But if you refer to family, then yes,” Xehanort nodded, “you were alone. It didn’t take long to discover you were an orphan -- an only child, if I recall correctly.”

“Oh.” Although he tried not to sound disappointed, Ven could tell his response fell a little flat. It wasn’t that he was hoping to discover a second family out there somewhere -- although the idea of being on his own that far back did sting a little -- but it raised other questions, the kind Xehanort wouldn’t be able to answer. Hoping to shake off the sensation, he shifted the subject. “Okay, but -- you said you had guesses. What kinds of guesses?”

“That you had it in you to bear a Keyblade. That your heart possessed the capacity to withstand my intentions. That you were not a waste of my time,” Xehanort recited casually. “I did have plans to take you in sooner, but other matters delayed my return to that world. Fortunately, you were kept safe in the meantime.”

“Safe…?” Ven frowned. If he was an orphan on the street, how would he have been “kept safe?” And come to think of it, how had Xehanort known he was presumably an only child?

Unless…

“Did I--” Ven hesitated, eyes searching Xehanort’s but finding no hints. “Was there -- somebody looking after me? I thought you said I had no family--”

“You didn’t. But even the most dilapidated of worlds have at least one selfless heart up to the task. Think,” said Xehanort more quietly. “There was one.”

Ven’s frown deepened, but he closed his eyes and tried. He tried to picture the scene -- himself, younger, running around with other children on some dirty streets -- and while it did coincide with a few of his recovered memories, he couldn’t picture it directly, let alone recall any faces. He couldn’t even remember meeting Xehanort for the first time. He only saw glimpses of cobbled stones, the burned shells of destroyed buildings -- he only heard the laughter of children, but also the sound of weeping. “I… I don’t remember.”

“ _Think,_ ” Xehanort repeated firmly. “Where did you sleep at night? Get food? Who cared for you when you fell ill?”

All that did was add to Ven’s building frustration. He was starting to feel guilty now, having forgotten somebody so allegedly important in his early life, and Xehanort was leading him along instead of just telling him. “I don’t…”

“You haven’t lost it, Ventus. The memory is only sleeping. Find it.”

Ven was silent. A man? A woman? Old? Young? He had no idea. As hard as he concentrated, absolutely nothing came to mind. A dull throb was starting to build between his eyes.

“No,” said Xehanort, “you’re trying to force it. This isn’t some training session, boy -- strength will not aid you here. Let go of your power; your heart and mind are all you need. Forget everything else. Seek the face you’ve forgotten. A voice.”

A few broken images flashed across Ven’s mind, but they were all too late in life. The first time he summoned his Keyblade -- the first time Xehanort brought him to the Badlands--

He shook his head once, sharply. “I can’t -- remember anybody -- before you--”

“You must,” was the firm reply. “If you cannot recall even this much, your search is in vain.”

Ven tried, but the timeline only shifted forward: he saw shadows and dust, felt heat and pain, and his heart gave a sharp twinge as it recalled being slowly, agonizingly ripped in two--

He jerked upright and opened his eyes, retreating from that memory as fast as he was able. “I _can’t_ ,” he snapped, exasperated. “There’s nothing that far back.” Seven years old, Xehanort had said. Was it even possible to recall anything from that long ago?

Silence fell except for the crackle of the fire. It felt hotter than usual, as though tension were building. Belatedly, Ven realized his right hand was lightly gripping his chest, over his heart.

After several long beats, Xehanort exhaled quietly. Ven thought it was almost the sound of reluctance. “...The orphanage,” said Xehanort. After another moment, he added, “The Matron who owned it.”

There was another short, dead-quiet pause.

And then it felt like something in Ven’s head exploded.

He might have cried out, but the mess of noise that suddenly filled his head left him deaf to anything else. He felt his knees hit the floor, his elbows follow a second later, but the study was gone and replaced with a torrent of flashing images too fast and bright to make out.

He heard voices, but a multitude of them, some older and soft while others were younger and loud but they all blended together to pulse painfully against his ears like a physical force. He felt his fingers digging into the back of his neck as he tried to reign it all in, but this was much more intense than any previous recollection. He could do nothing but try and brace himself against the thundering, overwhelming tide -- and, after some time, he realized that some of those images were coming apart from one another.

They still weren’t clear, but he could make out more details: a figure -- female. Her face -- no, he couldn’t see her face, but her hair was dark. There was a man with her, but he was even harder to see. He wasn’t very familiar. The woman had a kind voice, a musical laugh, although her words were garbled nonsense when Ven tried to focus on them.

Other children bled into view. Nobody stood out, nobody was familiar, but he could picture each and every one of them with the dark-haired woman. They clung to her legs or sat beside her; they listened to her read aloud or helped her with dishes in a small, crowded kitchen; they laughed with her, or cried as she comforted them.

Ven was one of the latter. He remembered getting hurt, crying, and then the sound of her gentle shushing as she carefully bandaged his scraped knee. He remembered looking up at her -- she was very tall -- and feeling better when she smiled and _there_ , there was her face--

The vision faded. The darkness of Xehanort’s study crept slowly back into view, and it was another long moment before Ven realized that he was lying on his side on the floor, his heartbeat thudding rapidly in his ringing ears. The space between his eyes still pounded.

He remained where he was a little longer, letting the few lucid memories wash over him as feeling returned to his limbs. Then he sat up, slowly, with a groan, and put a hand to his forehead to cast Cura. It only helped a little, and his palm came away damp with sweat.

“You remember.” It wasn’t a question.

Ven looked over to see that Xehanort hadn’t moved from his seat. Neither did he look even slightly alarmed by the episode just now. Ven nodded, his breathing heavy. “A little,” he said hoarsely, and then cleared his throat before continuing. “The Matron… she watched over us. There was--” He winced, pained by both another throb in his head as well as the recovery of a solemn memory. “--a war. A lot of us… were left alone. She took us in.”

“Correct.” When Ven shot him a look, Xehanort chuckled. “What did I say about memory being fragile? Had you recovered that knowledge on your own, you would have been spared much of that pain just now.”

Climbing shakily to his feet, Ven returned to his chair. “Why? What’s the difference between just remembering and you telling me?”

“I believe your Nobody friend would explain it best,” said Xehanort. “The memory witch.”

“Naminé,” Ven corrected quickly, a little defensively.

“The difference, as you say, lay in the recovery of the memory,” Xehanort explained, ignoring the interruption. “If I simply tell you what you want to know, I’m forcing it to the surface. Much can be lost on the way, or you may even lose it entirely. Or, as you’ve seen, the trauma may be too much to handle.”

_Trauma…_ Why would there be trauma? All those memories had seemed like good ones.

“In finding it yourself, you’re recovering it at the pace it requires.” Xehanort’s fingers drummed along the chair arm. “So you see, getting impatient with me will do you no favors. Theoretically, I could tell you everything I know at once and hope it doesn’t end your young life -- but I have enough unrest without killing a Guardian of Light under my roof,” he added flippantly. “I have no desire to incite a war over you.”

_You would have once,_ Ven thought bitterly before he could stop himself. “Okay. I get it.” Pushing his irritation aside, he turned back to those hard-earned glimpses. The Matron, the orphanage… “Do you--” He stopped and glanced uncertainly at Xehanort. “I mean -- can you tell me anything else about that world?”

“If you seek information on the Matron, I believe that is something you need to work for yourself. But I can tell you that the war you mentioned was indeed very real; you were one of the many orphans it created.”

“And… the Matron told you that?”

Xehanort hummed the affirmative. “I needed time before I could take you as my apprentice, so I asked her to retain you until my return. Despite the significant delay, she did as requested.”

Ven fell silent again. His heart, gut, and logic were all pointing to one path now. “...Where is this world?”

Eying him with a narrow look, Xehanort gave a low, humorless chortle. “If you could barely handle my saying a few words, how do you expect to withstand exposing yourself to your past so directly?”

“I’ll be careful,” said Ven quickly. “But this isn’t just about my memory now, anyway -- more than that…” His gaze dropped. “I might not remember much, but… I know the Matron’s a good person. She cared for all of us. She cared for _me_ when I had nobody else. And I just… forgot all about her.” He shook his head. “I need to find her. Even if I don’t remember any more than that -- even if it’s too dangerous to ask anything, that’s fine. I just want to talk to her.”

_To apologize. And tell her how much it meant to me._

The look Xehanort gave him now was the most ambiguous one yet. Gone was the mild amusement, the skepticism, everything. He seemed to be sizing Ven up, almost, or considering his next words carefully.

“...Please,” Ven implored. “Master Xehanort, I need t--”

“Ah, so I’m ‘Master’ again, am I?” Xehanort raised a mild eyebrow. “Flattery gets you nowhere, Ventus.” Still, he sighed lightly and mused, “But... it is inevitable. For your sake, I only hope it isn’t too soon.”

Ven perked up slightly.

“I’ll tell you where to find your world,” said Xehanort, “on one condition. Look into your broken memories -- recover the Matron’s name. When you can tell me that much, I’ll say your heart is equipped enough to handle going there.”

Disappointment hit Ven like a punch to the gut. He didn’t know how long it would take him to do that; today had been a significant breakthrough, but it could be months, or longer, until he recovered something else on his own, especially a memory so specific. For a few seconds, he was sure he’d lost out.

But then he called the woman’s face to mind one more time, that brief glimpse he’d been granted at the very end. He pictured her smile, her gentle voice saying his name, her warm hand stroking his hair.

And his mouth moved, his voice speaking up without him hardly realizing it.

“Edea,” he said.

Even Xehanort looked surprised. Ven’s tone had been a little unsure, but once it was out, the name locked itself into his mind. He was certain.

Ven nodded slightly, as if agreeing with himself. “Matron Edea,” he recalled softly.

* * *

For the minute following Ventus’ departure, the study was still aside from the endless dance of the fireplace flames. Only when there was a subtle disturbance in the warm air -- a slight touch on the senses that most would have overlooked -- did Xehanort finally rise from his chair.

His yellow eyes remained on the door, even when Vanitas suddenly emerged from the shadows between two shelves. He wore his mask, which glinted orange in the light as he watched his Master expectantly. It was clear he already knew what to do, but he waited for the order regardless.

Xehanort gave it. “Follow him.”

Vanitas turned to go. Glancing nonchalantly out the window, Xehanort added in a dismissive tone, “And don’t break him if you can help it. Not beyond repair.”

That made Vanitas pause mid-step. No emotional bond was needed to tell that he was oozing disdain. “That much is up to him.”

Xehanort didn’t reply. When he looked back, Vanitas was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And suddenly, there was Final Fantasy. Also, the rating may bump up to T in the next chapter, but just for some light violence/violent references.


	7. Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _that light's been burned out for a while_   
>  _I still see it every time I pass_   
>  _it was lost in the corners of my mind_   
>  _behind a box of reasons why_

Most of the buildings on the street were in decent shape. The majority were old structures of wood and stone, with maybe one out of every three showing signs of recent repair, while a handful of others stuck out as being much more modern. The sidewalks and cobblestone streets were still in need of fixing in a lot of places, particularly where they ran through the very heart of the small city, but it looked like the locals were getting by fine nonetheless. Even as Ven had made his way through, he’d seen several teams of people working on cordoned off sections of road, but it was clear that these were casual efforts.

This world, too, had been lost to darkness, he had quickly learned after arrival. It was restored along with the rest two years ago and, despite its small size, was still patching up its old wounds.

But the people looked happy, he noticed. He seemed to be the only one walking alone, watching others pass in family or working groups or as couples. Despite the nervous weight on his heart, despite that he still couldn’t recall enough to think of this place as home just yet, it made him glad to see the population so at ease and cheerful.

That happiness lasted until he made it to the end of the last street on the main block. He had asked for directions to the orphanage and been pointed this way, albeit with a curious look -- he assumed his clothes were strange or he stuck out as a foreigner -- but when he arrived at the space of land to which he’d been directed, he stopped short.

There was indeed a sign in the yard designating the property of an orphanage -- an _upcoming_ orphanage, now proudly in development if the boldly and brightly painted letters were any indication. Beyond it sat a gravel lot, empty except for the bare wooden framework of what would, eventually, be a two-story building.

For a moment Ven was confused. He thought he’d been misdirected, that maybe he had even come to the wrong world, but then logic kicked in and he realized that the old building must have simply had too much damage. Rather than repair it, the city was just starting from scratch.

Spotting an older woman further up the sidewalk, Ven jogged over. “Excuse me! Ma’am?”

The lady perked up, pausing between watering the colorful bunches of flowers around her mailbox. Her expression was a curious one, but when she noticed Ven’s polite smile she was quick to return it. “What can I do for you, young man?”

“That construction site over there. Can you tell me about it, please?”

She peered around Ven’s shoulder, pushing her glasses further up her nose. “Oh, the orphanage, you mean?” Her weathered face brightened. “Yes, yes, it’s about time the mayor got around to pushing that project. They’re saying it’ll be another six months at least, but everybody’s been so helpful, taking in those poor children in the meantime.”

“So what happened to the last orphanage? There was another one before, right?”

“Hmm…” It was a solemn sound. The woman turned back to her flowers, sprinkling water onto some vibrant yellow tulips. “There was,” she remarked more quietly. “A long time ago.”

When she hesitated, Ven prompted gently, “Ma’am?”

She shook her head, grey curls bouncing under her straw hat. “I’m sorry. Even now, thinking about it puts a chill in these old bones.” Ven frowned; the woman sighed after a moment, straightening up to hold the watering can between both gloved hands. Despite her age, she seemed to have a firm grip. Then she looked up at him, squinting in the sunlight. “You’re not from around here, are you, young man?”

Ven paused. Ever since the war, the existence of other worlds was no longer a taboo subject among civilians -- it was difficult to hide, considering the barriers between them were steadily breaking down -- but he wasn’t sure how best to answer that in light of what he had learned only a couple hours ago. Then again, she could have just assumed he was from one of the neighboring cities.

“It’s… been a long time,” he tried. The lady studied him for several seconds, but then seemed to accept that answer.

“Then you wouldn’t know,” she replied. “Many years ago, much of that orphanage was destroyed in a fire.”

“Fire?”

“Yes. A terrible one, too. All the children survived, thank the Lord, but the owners weren’t so fortunate. Rest their souls.”

The owners. The warm air suddenly felt muggy, almost too thick to inhale. “They… They died?” he managed. The woman studied him again with that same look as before, but then nodded once.

“Yes. I knew them well, too. Edea was such a sweet woman. Being the Matron wasn’t just a job to her, it was a responsibility that she truly enjoyed. She had a gift for teaching, and loved those boys and girls like they were her own. She and her husband never did have children themselves.”

Ven heard little after that name was spoken.

Dead.

She was dead, had been for a number of years. It was strange, but sadness wasn’t the first thing to hit him -- shock was, followed by a numbness in his chest.

“The darkness came a few years after that,” the woman was saying. “That’s why we haven’t -- are you alright?” she asked with a concerned frown, noticing his vacant stare.

Ven blinked, looked at her, and then after a couple awkward seconds shook his head. “I’m -- I’m sorry, yeah. I’m fine. I just… That’s… sad to hear.”

“Yes… I still remember that night. An awful tragedy, and a terrible loss for the whole community.” Once more the woman eyed him thoughtfully. “Did you know the Kramers?”

Again, Ven wasn’t sure how to answer. “I--” He stopped and looked up, over, quickly scanning the street. Despite his distracted thoughts, he’d just picked up on a sudden presence like cold rainwater down his back. _He_ was here. Why? “...I… No,” he replied slowly, finally returning his focus to the old woman. “I mean, if I did, I don’t remember very well.”

“Hmm… To be honest, I was starting to think you might have been one of the boys under their care, but--” Pursing her lips, the lady moved on to the next batch of flowers. “You’re much too young, and I’m positive they had no infants at the time.”

Ven said nothing. It was probably better that way. “Right,” he said quietly, a little blandly. “Thank you very much, Ma’am. I appreciate it.”

“Of course, young man. I’m glad to help.”

Ven turned to head back the way he’d come, but the lady’s voice stopped him. “You know,” she mused, “I volunteered in the orphanage’s kitchen on occasion. I didn’t know the children very well, but I did meet with the group a few times. There was one boy at the time who always stuck out to me -- very happy, very bright. All the other children loved being around him. Nobody could find him after the accident, and he was never found in the remains. There was a rumor that his adoption was being processed right before then, but all the records were lost with everything else.” She hummed. “I still wonder what happened to him, sometimes.”

Ven opened his mouth, closed it. He didn’t look back at her. “I’m not sure, either, Ma’am.”

* * *

Back in front of the mostly-empty lot, Ven didn’t have to wait long. That uncomfortable buzz on the back of his neck continued to grow, and it was soon joined by the sensation of being watched. Almost automatically, he looked left and instantly located Vanitas at the end of the sidewalk. Arms crossed, he was leaning casually against the rotting fence -- and wearing his mask, for some reason. They regarded one another in silence for several long heartbeats.

Ven was the first to look away, turning back to the site. In the corner of his eye he saw Vanitas straighten up and make his way over, coming to a stop about three arms’ lengths away. It seemed he either infringed on Ven’s personal space to an obnoxious degree or observed a non-aggressive distance like this; there was no in-between with him. He, too, studied the lot before them without comment.

“Did you know?” Ven asked finally.

“Know what?” When Ven didn’t answer, Vanitas offered with a thin layer of sarcasm, “That they’re rebuilding this shack? No--”

 _“Did you know that she’s gone.”_ Ven’s tone was tight. Vanitas was quiet, unmoving.

“...Yeah. I knew,” he said blankly. Then he corrected, “I know. I remember it, unlike you.”

“What?” Turning, Ven tried to get a read off him -- visually, emotionally, anything -- but Vanitas was doing well at keeping himself neutral on both accounts.

“Most things from that far back aren’t very clear,” Vanitas replied. “But that? It sticks out.”

Ven hesitated. Did he _want_ to know what Vanitas remembered? The more tender side of him said no; another insisted he had come this far, that he owed it to the Matron to gather as much as he could. “...What happened?”

“I’m sure you heard. A fire destroyed the place. All the kids were _miraculously_ saved--” Vanitas’ head twitched at the sardonic use of the word. “--but it tragically claimed the life of the staff, including the Matron and her husband who ran the place.”

Ven’s eyes fell to the ground.

“But what the gossipers probably didn’t tell you is just how she died,” Vanitas added, drawing Ven’s attention again. “Oh, they’ll pay their respects and say the Matron was a saint, that she must have spent her last moments getting all those kids out. And they would be right.” He remained as still as stone, but there was a flicker there in the air between them -- a vague feeling, a smothered emotion. Something… negative, Ven could tell. Dark, but he couldn’t pinpoint the exact nature of it. “But they don’t know that she actually came very close to making it out alive. She would have, if she hadn’t doubled back to save one more kid.”

Vanitas looked at him. The stare -- and the silence -- stretched on, each passing second adding an anxious weight to Ven’s chest. He waited -- he hoped, desperately, that Vanitas would say the child had been somebody else, but the relief never came.

“It was us,” Vanitas confirmed.

Those words sent frost through Ven’s veins. He blinked, feeling dazed as his eyes drifted distractedly back to the building’s framework.

“She ended up trapped,” Vanitas went on in that same indifferent tone, “and shielded us. I remember her talking, but it was hard to hear over the flames.” That weight crept up from Ven’s chest into his throat, tightening it. “But she talked the whole time, as long as she was able. Trying to calm us down, even though she knew it was over. She said she wanted to give us -- to give _you_ the chance for a family. She died protecting you because she knew the Master would come back.”

“That’s enough,” Ven told him. The snap in his voice was unstable, weak. More grief than anger. He expected another assault of memory any second now, something to confirm that it was indeed true, but there was nothing.

“But we nearly died anyway,” Vanitas went on, ignoring him. “Just so happened the Master came back that same night. He found the Matron and pulled us out from under her body--”

 _“I said that’s enough!”_ Ven’s voice cracked as it rose. Several passersby looked over. His eyes stayed forward, refusing to look at Vanitas and trying with everything he had not to picture what was being said. Regardless, in the corner of his vision he saw Vanitas cock his head curiously.

“What’s it matter? You didn’t even remember her until an hour ago.”

“That’s just it,” said Ven quietly. “I should’ve… remembered _something_. Even if it was just the bad things.”

Vanitas stared at him again for a few long seconds, and then gave a bitter laugh under his breath. “The bad things aren’t worth it. Not for somebody like you.”

Frowning, Ven quickly looked over. “What else... do you remember? From back then?”

Vanitas took his time in replying. His head twitched to the right as he stared at something in the distance -- or maybe nothing at all. “That’s it,” he said finally.

Ven blinked. “What?”

“That’s all I remember,” Vanitas clarified in a snap. “The fire. Her death. Her body. That’s it.” Dropping his arms, he gave a shrug -- a little too forcefully to be totally apathetic -- as he turned on his heel to leave. “Good thing she doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Hey--” Ven started to reach for him, but stopped just short as he reconsidered the gesture. Instead, he trotted to keep up with him. “Hold on -- there’s gotta be something else. How can that be the only thing you--” Vanitas turned in an abrupt one-eighty and Ven skidded to a halt, nearly knocking his face against that mask.

“You know,” said Vanitas darkly, “everybody else might be fine with spoon-feeding you answers, but I really don’t like wasting my time with stupid questions. Why don’t you think for yourself _for once_ before you ask something obvious?”

“Obvious?” Ven echoed, his own annoyance quickly rearing its head. “Easy for you to say--”

“ _Easy?_ Who’re you to say anything’s _easy_ when you’re too stupid to know the first thing about any of this?”

“I _wouldn’t be_ if you and Xehanort would just be more _honest_ with me--”

“Why? So you can have another meltdown?”

Ven bit back the first retort that came to mind, as well as the second and third. Vanitas watched him coolly, that mask irritatingly blank. After a moment, he relaxed and took a half-step back from Ven. “Well,” he remarked, partly to himself, “I warned him.”

“Who?”

“You want answers?” Vanitas demanded, ignoring the question. There was a thin hint of anger in his voice as well as his aura, but his tone remained collected and cold. “Then ask yourself: what happened after the Master split us in two?”

 _After?_ Ven stared at him, confused. “I… I went to the Land of Departure after that,” he said uncertainly. “I forgot everything--”

“After we split,” Vanitas repeated. “Before you left. What do you remember?”

“ _Nothing_. I told you, I forgot every--”

“I heard you the first time, idiot. Yes, you forgot, but why do you assume you went straight to that world?”

Ven stared. Vanitas let that sink in for a few long seconds. “You didn’t,” he said slowly, answering his own question. “He kept you around, right up until he decided there was no way he could keep both of us. Not without you dying on him.”

A short bolt of pain shot through Ven’s temple, making him cringe.

“He tried a few things to extend your life,” Vanitas went on casually. “He was pretty reluctant to hand you off to somebody else, so he experimented a little. Did everything he could to try and keep your light from snuffing out around me.”

Another uncomfortable stab, this time behind his eyes.

“You know what his last resort was?” When Ven didn’t reply, Vanitas leaned forward over his shoulder, as if to keep from being overheard -- or, more likely, to make sure Ven heard every word as clear as crystal. “I know it’s in that thick head somewhere,” he said quietly. “But you’re probably forgetting that detail on purpose. Too much shame and guilt for somebody like you, right?”

_Shame…?_

“Most of the time, you were just a bigger waste of space than you are now. You’d lay there for days, too weak to do anything. But sometimes?” Vanitas’ shoulders jerked slightly in a silent chuckle. “Let’s just say it’s the one thing I can thank you for.”

Ven’s stomach twisted.

“You _did_ remember, back then. You remembered losing the Matron. It was killing you, much faster than being around me was. So the Master got the idea to free you from those nasty memories. Of course--” He shrugged. “--even he doesn’t have that kind of power, so he had to use a workaround.”

“Workaround…”

“Sure did. When your nightmares got _really_ bad, your shattered heart didn’t know how to handle it. So it tried to displace all that negativity.”

Ven went rigid.

_No._

“You guessed it.” He could hear the grin in Vanitas’ voice. “Those broken emotions took shape. Master Xehanort decided to transfer them to me; risky, but you were dead otherwise. His plan was in danger either way, and it worked out pretty well for me.” Vanitas drew back, taking what was probably a very satisfied look at Ven’s face. “The Unversed? They originally came from you.”

Staggering backwards, Ven shook his head, a gesture of denial as much as it was an attempt to ward off the memories already threatening to wash over him. “No -- that’s not--”

“True? Please. I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.” Vanitas took a step forward; Ven took one back, but the pain in his skull flared into vertigo and he stumbled, falling to his hands and knees. Colors, images, sounds all flooded his senses again, but even then he could make out Vanitas stopping directly in front of him, could hear his coldly casual voice. “For me, the Unversed are my emotions. For you, they were the manifestation of all the grief and horror that your sad little mind couldn’t handle. I guess it’s kind of the same thing in the end.”

Ven hissed through his teeth, shutting his eyes tight, but it did nothing for his building headache. When he opened them again, he found that Vanitas had knelt down to join him, one arm resting casually on his knee. “You wanted answers?” he asked lightly. “Enjoy.”

The onslaught slammed into Ven like before, except this time he wasn’t assaulted by visuals as much as he was by emotions: sadness, fear, despair, shock, grief. They squeezed his heart until it hurt, until his breath was short and the weight in his chest felt like it could pin him to the ground. The world around him spun and darkened, shadows threatening to creep up on the edges of his vision as his head went between feeling light with dizziness and heavy with that incessant pounding in his temples.

Vanitas watched all this without moving or caring. He could detect wisps of what Ventus was experiencing -- so much hurt and negativity -- but they were faint, and if he tried he could pretty much ignore them. The benefits of being used to such emotions, he supposed.

It had been risky telling him that much, Vanitas knew, but if he had one semi-positive thing to say about Ventus, it was that the idiot was frustratingly resilient. He was easy to break, sure, but broken wasn’t dead. Whatever finished Ventus off in his last days, it wouldn’t be something as lame as a mental breakdown.

“Trust me,” he said quietly, partly to himself as he stood up, “if it ever came down to that, I’d gladly spare you the shame in a heartbeat.”

Something touched the edge of his senses. It was an intrinsically familiar sensation, not necessarily hostile in nature, but he was conditioned to the feeling by this point and alarms went off in his head regardless. He followed the mental tug and quickly looked left -- just in time to see a group of Heartless suddenly swirl into existence in the middle of the street. Screams behind him said that more were appearing in the other direction, too.

“Perfect,” he muttered. In a flash he summoned his Keyblade and turned to face those that were closest. “C’mon, idiot,” he threw over his shoulder, “up and at ‘em.” A sidelong glance showed Ventus still on his knees, still barehanded. Before Vanitas could throw out another insult, the first line of Heartless leaped and he met them in a slash of steel that did away with all four of them. At the end of the swing he turned sharply on his heel to face Ventus fully. “Get _up_ ,” he growled. “My orders weren’t to babysit you.” Except he knew perfectly well that getting Ventus back alive had been implied between the lines; even if it wasn’t -- directly -- Vanitas’ fault, he would be held accountable all the same if Ventus died under his watch.

Vanitas just preferred that his other half didn’t know that.

More Heartless appeared, making him scowl when Ventus remained unresponsive. _”Ventus--”_ he started sharply, resorting to the use of his actual name, only to be cut off when he noticed that the Heartless had changed targets. Smarter than they looked, they threw themselves at the unarmed wielder, led by two Neo Shadows with stretching, eager claws that sought to tear into their prey--

\--whom they would never reach, because Vanitas bowled into them with a fistful of dark magic that sent them scattering. Planting himself in front of Ventus, he forced his irritation to the back of his mind and made a sweeping glance of the area to do some rapid estimations. On his own these Heartless wouldn’t have been a challenge, but if he really was stooping as low as protecting Ventus, that was another matter entirely. While his pride wanted to insist that he could handle it just fine, logic pointed out that he’d never protected _anybody_ before and now might not be the best time to wing it.

He wasn’t under any obligation to actually wipe the creatures out, anyway, so a strategic retreat was sounding like the better option. Remaining on guard, he reached down to grab a fistful of Ventus’ coat and yanked. Ventus followed the lead and stood, clumsily, but a glance at his face said he was only vaguely aware of what was happening, if that. Vanitas had to turn away as more Heartless hurried forward, a quick double-slash clearing them out, but in that small space of time Ventus managed to lose what consciousness he had left and pitched backwards.

Before he could hit the ground, Vanitas’ hand darted out, caught his wrist, and gave a sharp tug to redirect his fall. He crouched in the same second and Ventus landed limply across his shoulders, out cold. It was only a slight struggle to stand up straight again -- Ventus weighed less than he did -- and once certain that he had his charge in a secure fireman’s carry, Vanitas opened a Dark Corridor and wasted no time in leaping inside.

* * *

Xehanort had just set his pen’s tip to the parchment when he sensed Vanitas’ return. His hand lingered over the paper as he focused, trying to detect -- ah, yes, there it was. Faint, but Ventus’ light was also present.

Not just faint, but weak, he noted. Unsurprisingly, the boy had overdone it -- as for which boy, that remained to be seen.

Less than a minute later the study’s door opened. He looked up to see Vanitas enter, bearing an unconscious Ventus across his shoulders as he descended the couple steps to the main floor. He stopped there, the front of his mask fading away to reveal a careless expression.

Xehanort set down his pen. “You told him too much,” he observed.

“He asked. Who am I to lie to myself?”

“Hn.” That boy still had too much attitude, but Xehanort knew there was no wringing it out of him at this point. “Did he remember?”

“He was a mess, but all of his emotions were old ones. Didn’t feel like he recovered any actual memories.”

Xehanort was silent. Then, slowly, he stood up, the usual aches and pains shooting through his old body at the movement. Approaching the boys, he placed his hands on either side of Ventus’ head, his palms glowing with a faint pink light. He only needed a few seconds to more or less confirm what Vanitas had said: Ventus was very much alive, his heart and mind still intact, but they were both bending under too much strain. It seemed his guesses were correct, after all.

“Put him upstairs,” he ordered, dropping his hands and stepping away. “And then go get the girl. Discreetly.”

Vanitas turned only partway towards the door, shooting Xehanort a questioning look. “You really want to get that party started?”

“Unless you’d rather tend to Ventus yourself,” Xehanort replied coolly as he turned to head back to his work. “He still has some value to me. I won’t risk your rash enmity costing him the entirety of his memory.”

There was a low grunt as Vanitas started back up the steps. “If Terra comes kicking your door down, don’t blame me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xehanort and Vanitas trading sass is just about my favorite thing, if you couldn't guess.


	8. Dark Before Dawn

Ven vomited again, throat burning and eyes watering as he grasped the edge of the sink. He didn’t have much more to give by now, and soon his chest was heaving in vain as his throat continued to constrict, making him shut his eyes tight as he waited out the wave of nausea.

His head buzzed and bile soured his tongue, but through that he could still detect it: that feeling, that _taste_. As hard as his body was fighting to eject it, it hadn’t faded even slightly since waking half an hour ago.

His arms were trembling as he straightened up. He inhaled deeply before another fit could take him, and then stepped over in front of the sink proper to run some cold water over his face. It helped a little. There he lingered, letting cold droplets run down his nose and into his eyes as he tried to catch his breath.

His sore shoulders suddenly tensed. Frowning, he lifted his heavy head to look into the mirror and meet the pair of eyes watching him from the doorway.

 _“What.”_ His voice didn’t sound anything like him. It was hoarse, weak, and deadpan except for a trace of irritation.

Leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed, Vanitas met that glare indifferently. “Don’t play tough. If your body’s going through a rejection this bad, you’re more pathetic than I thought.”

For the moment Ven ignored him, snatching a towel off the wall to bury his wet face in it. He’d thought the darkness would be relieving on his sore eyes, but he instantly felt lightheaded and uncomfortable, almost claustrophobic, and had to quickly pull it away again. “Should I bother asking what you mean by that,” he asked coldly, “or should I give up on trying to get any real answers from you people?”

Vanitas briefly cracked a small, smug grin, taking either pleasure or satisfaction (or both) in that sharp flare of negativity. “I gave you plenty of answers, didn’t I? Not my fault you couldn’t handle them.”

Very rarely did Ven entertain violent impulses -- but right then he wanted to punch Vanitas in his arrogant face. Even were he the type to act on the worst part of his temper, however, he knew he couldn’t manage it. Not right then. So instead he settled back into silence and this time stuck his whole head under the faucet. The cold took his breath away, but it also numbed some of the aching and nausea. He was also hoping he’d be left alone during that time, but when he straightened up a minute later and wiped his eyes clear, Vanitas hadn’t so much as budged.

“Do you _want_ something?” Ven snapped, exasperated. Physically speaking, being around Vanitas was never pleasant -- his aura, that faint trace of familiar darkness, always seemed to leave the air around him a little colder and make the hairs on the back of Ven’s neck stand up -- but now, even with several yards between them, having him close was like standing near a block of solid ice. Chills ran over the skin of Ven’s back and then burrowed deeper to crawl down his spine. He had to resist the urge to shiver.

“I’m certainly not watching you drown yourself for fun,” Vanitas replied, making Ven snort.

“We both know you’d like that,” he retorted. If Vanitas responded, Ven missed it as he began toweling his hair dry. Once that was as good as it was going to get, he made for the door, and when Vanitas didn’t move Ven had no choice but to shoulder past him. Back in the stark-white bedroom he’d awoken in, he sat down heavily on the simple bed, and then after a moment chose to sit cross-legged with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. For a short pause he was silent, listening to himself breathe in and out. “Why do I feel like this?” he asked without looking up. If Vanitas insisted on staying, it wasn’t too outlandish to assume he might be even slightly helpful, was it?

Probably.

So Ven was surprised when Vanitas answered plainly, “You were in the Lanes without protection. A heart like yours can’t handle that.”

A heart like his -- a heart of light, or a heart that had once been damaged? Ven decided not to press. He didn’t really care, nor did he want to give Vanitas another opportunity to be frustratingly vague. “Oh.” Another pause. Another chance for Vanitas to take his leave, which he didn’t. “If you’re expecting a thanks for bringing me back, forget it,” he added impatiently.

“Ha.” The laugh dropped like a rock, heavy with sarcasm and indifference. “That’s quite the attitude, Ventus. Maybe you fit in around here better than I thought.”

That was meant to provoke, Ven could tell, so he barely resisted another comeback. He bit down on his tongue and still didn’t raise his head, hoping Vanitas would get bored and just _leave him alone._ The odd aftereffects of the Lanes aside, there was still a knot twisting in his stomach, a cold weight on his heart, in the wake of what had last been said between the two of them.

The Matron’s death, and the source of the Unversed… were they really connected? And did Vanitas -- or Xehanort, by extension -- have anything to gain by making Ven believe such a lie? If it was true, it didn’t really change anything. It hurt to know, yes, and part of him already wished he had never pursued this mystery in the first place… but regret meant nothing now. He knew what he knew and there was no changing that, assuming it was true -- and the all too real, painfully raw throb of his heart said that he knew it was. Somewhere, in a shady, forgotten corner of his memory, he was aware of the honesty in Vanitas’ account.

As if detecting those thoughts -- and, unnervingly, Ven couldn’t rule that possibility out -- Vanitas spoke up again. “So. Now you’ve got your answers. Where you goin’ from here?” There was too much disdain threaded in those words to tell whether he was asking in sarcasm or actual curiosity. Either way, Ven didn’t answer because even he didn’t know.

“What d’you care?”

“I don’t. You can take that knowledge and go jump off a bridge if you want to. But every time you bug the Master, you’re bugging me. I’m wondering if I have to fit more babysitting into my schedule.”

Ven couldn’t help it: he gave a short, bitter grunt of a laugh. If only Vanitas knew. “I’m sure you’ll be the first to know once I figure it out.” When the chill in his skin grew worse, he looked up and found Vanitas standing at the bedside and looking down at him. Even if he wasn’t too tired to tense up, Ven didn’t feel particularly threatened, and only stared back at him impassively to let him know it.

“...You still don’t remember,” said Vanitas.

“Remember what.”

“The Matron. The orphanage. Any of it.”

Ven didn’t want to think about it -- not this soon -- but if it would get Vanitas off his case, it could be worth it. Reluctantly, he recalled what he’d been told, tried his best to picture some of the less horrible scenes described. “...No,” he said after a pause. “Nothing.”

“And I’m betting you have no idea why that is.”

“Why would I?”

Vanitas gave him a look that, coming from anybody other than Vanitas, would have been a look of pity. “You’ve been recovering bits and pieces of your past, little by little -- but something so central, something that _broke_ you so completely… nothing.”

“Assuming you’re bein’ honest about what happened,” said Ven dryly, “then maybe… I don’t know, it’s a defense thing? I’ve forgotten it because I can’t handle it, like Xehanort said.”

“Except my describing it to you didn’t jumpstart any memories. If I _am_ being honest, then telling you about the fire should’ve knocked you out first.”

Ven stared at him. He couldn’t tell if Vanitas was just trying to make him feel stupid, or… was sort of being helpful, in his own weird way. “So,” said Ven slowly, “if you’re not lying, then… there’s some other reason I can’t remember?”

“You tell me.”

Ven frowned, annoyed. _Helpful_ was too strong a word. He rubbed at his arms, trying to do away with all the goosebumps on his skin as he thought that over. If the memory wasn’t reacting, then… what? What did it mean? Was the memory lost? Was it too damaged to recover?

His head throbbed again, breaking his tentative train of thought. “Could you -- _not_ stand so close?” he asked. “You’re makin’ me--” He decided not to finish the thought, but Vanitas did it for him, albeit sarcastically.

“What? Uncomfortable?” 

“Yeah, actually,” said Ven flatly. “You’re makin’ it all worse.”

Vanitas watched him for a moment, finally breaking away with a low grunt. 

And then without so much as a vague hint of warning, his arm moved and suddenly strong fingers closed around Ven’s throat. Dazed though he was, Ven was instantly tensed to react and went to strike hard at the hand holding him -- except he never got that far, because he found that he couldn’t move. His arms remained limp in his lap, his entire body having instantly gone slack. Vanitas’ grip wasn’t all that tight, but it was strangely, icy cold. Breathing had quickly become difficult; it felt as though weights were pushing in on Ven’s chest from all sides.

His startled gaze moved up to Vanitas, who tilted his head a fraction. “Huh. Master or not, looks like some things haven’t changed. This is how weak you still are, deep down.”

_“What’re you--”_

“Here’s how it’s gonna go, Ventus.” His right hand still casually in his pocket, he swung one leg up onto the mattress to kneel in front of -- no, to kneel _over_ Ven, rather, keeping himself a head taller. It was purely for the sake of emphasizing how one-sided their positions were right now, Ven could tell. It was meant to rub his vulnerability in his face. It worked. “I’m under orders to make sure your sheltered little brain doesn’t explode under all this pressure. Fair enough. So you’re not getting any answers unless you come up with ‘em yourself -- but since you’re a colossal moron, I’ll give you a few hints.”

When Ven tried to twist his head away, Vanitas’ hold shifted to his jaw instead and held him still. It put extra strain on his neck and back, but he didn’t make a sound. Vanitas no longer wore gloves these days, so Ven was quickly discovering that skin-to-skin contact with him was nothing he liked, adding to the nausea coursing through him.

“When the Master talked to you about your homeworld, you had a breakdown. When I told you about the Unversed, you had a breakdown. But when I told you, _in detail_ , about the Matron, you didn’t feel a thing, did you?”

“That’s not--!” Ven started to object, but then quickly cut himself off. There was guilt, and sadness, and regret, yes, but as far as substantial evidence of the truth went… he had still recovered nothing. “...No,” he agreed after a pause.

“So it’s the _one_ memory you can’t seem to remember. Why might that be?”

Ven turned that over, trying to ignore that painful grip on his face and Vanitas’ skeptical, expectant stare. “It… I guess it’s somewhere I can’t reach. I don’t _know_ \--”

“Exactly,” Vanitas interrupted impatiently. “And where would something have to be if you couldn’t reach it?”

 _Where would it have to be?_ What did _that_ mean?

Ven made an annoyed sound under his breath. “I can’t think with you in my face like this. _Let go._ ”

“It’s called incentive. Sooner you figure this out, sooner I can get back to my life and leave you alone.”

“It’s distracting,” Ven snapped.

“ _This_ is distracting?” Vanitas asked coolly. The next thing Ven knew, he was on his back, still with that paralyzing grip clamped tightly around his jaw. Vanitas leaned over him, smiling in a mockery of cheer. “I’ll tell you what’s distracting. Listening to you, comin’ in here and acting like we _owe_ you anything, all because you’re so dead-set on recovering some useless memories that are just gonna make you miserable in the end, anyway.”

“That’s--”

“If that’s how you wanna waste your life, fine by me. But don’t mistake my self- _restraint_ \--” Vanitas’ fingers dug in a little deeper, enough to add the bite of his nails, as his smile faded-- “for kindness, _Ventus._ I might not be allowed to kill you, but anything else goes.” Ven did his best to mask his skepticism, but Vanitas must have detected it nonetheless, because he gave a short, dark chuckle. “Heh. You must think you’re pretty safe as his guest of honor, huh?” He pulled back a little ways, straightening up -- and then, lazily, he swiveled on his knee to bring his other leg up and over Ven so that he was kneeling entirely on the bed now, straddling his waist without actually touching him except for the hand that still kept him pinned. The pressure of Vanitas’ aura pushing down on him was now so intense that he might as well have been sitting on Ven’s chest. “As far as the Master’s concerned,” he went on snidely, “you and I have always been two sides of the same coin. Can't have one without the other. So if I was to, I don't know… gouge out an eye?”

Something cold touched Ven's wrists, quickly climbing up to his elbows, his shoulders -- he looked down to see pitch-black shadows on his skin, moving as though alive despite that the lighting in the room hadn't changed. They suddenly warped, stretched, and leapt onto the mattress beside him, quickly taking a solid form. In the blink of an eye he was staring down an Unversed, its red gaze locked on his face as it chittered warily.

“I'd get a lecture, but you honestly think he'd do anything to me? Guess again.”

On some silent command the Unversed crept closer, up to Ven’s shoulder. He clenched his fist, but the rest of his arm was slow to tense.

It was possible the threat was real, but Ven refused to give him the satisfaction of fear and instead locked onto the implication in his words. _Two sides of the same coin…?_ Xehanort needed -- or at least wanted -- Ven alive to fulfill his part of their deal, but what did Vanitas’ continued existence really matter? Was he serving some purpose that would continue past Xehanort’s approaching demise? Something that Ven was expected to help continue?

Ven had all but asked as much back when they first met over this matter, only for Xehanort to tell him that he needed to figure it out for himself.

“So, let’s try this again--”

“Why would he need both of us?” Ven asked suddenly. He’d been missing something all this time. Something obvious. “What for?”

Vanitas gave another brief, condescending laugh. “ _Now_ you’re thinking for yourself. I don’t know -- why would he?”

“This has nothing to do with my memory, Vanitas!” It sent pins and needles through every joint in his arm, but Ven slowly, clumsily lifted his right hand and caught Vanitas’ wrist -- which would do nothing for him. He could barely hold on, let alone fight him off. “Tell me what he--”

“Or _what?_ I’d say you could try to force it out of me, but look at you. You have _no_ leverage. You’re ten steps behind, same as always, and if you can’t even figure out what’s _right in front of you_? You don’t stand a chance of guessing what the Master really wants.”

“Then what about you? What’re you getting out of this?” Ven demanded. His voice was straining and his stomach continued to twist itself in knots. “Xehanort said he’s still training you. But there’s something else, isn’t there?”

Vanitas cocked one sharp eyebrow. “Now we’re getting off the subject.” The Unversed crept up beside Ven’s head and he instantly tensed in surprise -- not because it was threatening, but because he _felt_ it. Not physically, but inwardly, the same way he could detect a brush of negativity and familiar darkness when Vanitas was close by -- in fact, it felt so similar to Vanitas that Ven hadn’t been able to tell the two apart until it moved closer to him. Now, he was certain.

Mistaking that tension for nervousness, perhaps, Vanitas grinned slowly. His usually perfect self-control slipped, hinting at something dark and unsettling under that cool exterior. “You know, suddenly I’m not feeling so generous. You want those answers, go dig for ‘em yourself. But before I go--” He leaned forward, his fingers slipping back down around Ven’s neck again and bearing most of his weight. Stars flickered in front of Ven’s eyes, his already sore chest quickly starting to ache worse at the abrupt shortage of oxygen. “I’ve played nice a little too long. How about a few new scars to go with that big boy outfit of yours?”

Ven struggled against the static and the darkness threatening to overtake his mind -- he needed to fight back, _now_ , but his body was still largely unresponsive, still dazed from exposure to the Lanes and crushed beneath Vanitas’ oppressive presence. He reached for his magic instead, but it was like fumbling blind while underwater. There were too many factors, too many distractions -- but he reached, anyway.

Again he felt that flicker of negativity -- small, almost hollow compared to Vanitas, but still solid and present. In the corner of his eye, uncomfortably close, the Unversed twitched again. That made Ven pause.

_They originally came from you._

Ever since the War, Ven had been able to feel the Unversed when they were created. Nothing more than that -- just a spark on the edge of his consciousness as they were willed into being.

He looked at the creature directly. It met his stare, its pointed face and blank eyes unreadable. Fledgling emotions, Vanitas had once said. His to control.

And yet Ven could feel its presence on the same level of consciousness as his magic.

Vanitas summoned his Keyblade, snapping Ven’s attention forward. As the chains on the weapon rattled, Ven focused. He pushed his pain and nausea to the edges of his mind, focusing on that Unversed in the same way he would focus on Vanitas when trying to get a solid read on him, reaching out with his mind and heart. Searching. Letting his guard down. Calling up the kind of meditative state he’d used when first studying magic.

It was a long shot -- it was probably stupid, even, but if he had nothing to lose...

...it was worth trying. So he silently spoke one thing into the void of silence in his head:

_Stop him._

The Unversed held his gaze.

Ven wasn’t used to giving orders. At most, he’d shout warnings in battle or give tips during training with the next-generation wielders -- but actually having real authority, and expecting to be obeyed, wasn’t a feeling he really knew.

No time like the present.

 _Stop him,_ he repeated firmly. _Stop him stop him stop him--_

“I won’t kill you,” Vanitas assured him, “but I wonder what your little girlfriend will think if you’re not so pretty anymore.”

 _\--Get him._ There was anger behind that one.

The Unversed cocked its head slightly, as though confused -- or, maybe, as though it was listening.

 _Get him,_ Ven thought again, more boldly. _Get Vanitas. Go after him--_

Stiffly, slowly, the creature turned its head to look back at its master -- and then quickly looked at Ven again as cold steel touched his cheek--

_Attack him. NOW._

\--and then it pivoted in place, its motions no longer halting and awkward, and actually lunged _at Vanitas_ \--

\--who was too fast for it and jerked backwards, following up with a hard swing of his Keyblade to cleave it in two. The movement made his hold slip -- not entirely, but for a split-second it was only his fingertips on Ven’s neck rather than his whole hand. Paralyzed nerves suddenly gained feeling again.

The Unversed was still disappearing in a cloud of smoke when Ven moved, using the moment of distraction to clumsily but quickly pull one leg out from under Vanitas and kick him hard in the chest.

Vanitas toppled off the bed and onto the floor, but that was as far as Ven could go. He collapsed back in place with a gasp, now exhausted from that mental tug-of-war on top of his previous nausea. Out of instinct more than anything, he summoned his Keyblade -- and as soon as his fingers closed around the hilt, he felt his strength returning. It washed up his arm like a touch of warm sunlight, flooding the rest of his body slowly but surely.

Too slowly. Vanitas was on his feet, weapon still in hand. Both inwardly and outwardly, all of his previous dark humor, his borderline satisfaction of watching Ven squirm, his narrowly restrained impulse to _hurt_ , they were all gone. Silenced. He gave off nothing. Ven knew better than to be reassured by it; Vanitas wasn’t suddenly _over_ those emotions. He had closed them down forcefully, stifled them, hiding away any hint of his present intention in a manner that Ven could only continue to envy. If he was doing that, he didn’t want Ven to know what he was feeling -- but Ven figured he already knew.

Despite his usual lax attitude, Vanitas was territorial by nature. By seizing control of his Unversed like that, Ven had dared to push one of his boundaries.

“Well, well.” Vanitas’ tone was quiet, but that only made it more threatening than usual. “No longer in denial, I take it.” His eyes thinned as if he were about to say something more, but after a pause he only made his way forward.

Ven didn’t wait for him to act first. Vanitas never approached him without reason and there was too much hostility bristling under the surface for this to be another empty threat. It felt sluggish, but he managed to cast and hurl Fira in a relatively straight line. Vanitas cut it down with a swing, but it was long enough for Ven to drag his legs over the side of the bed and force himself to stand.

He just hadn’t accounted for the possibility of his muscles being slow to recuperate. He dropped to the hard floor as his legs instantly gave way, barely catching himself on his hands -- and looked up just in time for Vanitas’ Keyblade to strike his face.

It was the flat side of the blade -- and Vanitas had most certainly held back -- but the blow did what it was meant to and sent Ven sprawling. His right cheekbone throbbed and he tasted blood, spitting some on the white tile as he willed his vision to stop spinning.

He expected threats, insults, sarcasm, something -- but Vanitas was silent. That set off a lot more alarms in Ven’s already ringing head. Aching all over, he shakily pushed himself up onto his knees and had to use the wall at his back for support. His Keyblade continued to syphon fresh strength and feeling into his limbs, but still too slowly. He had the feeling that the two of them were beyond talking it out; whatever message Vanitas wanted to get across -- if there still was one -- he was going to do it by force.

Holding Vanitas’ hostile gaze, Ven once more forced himself to relax, to let go of the tension that hunched his shoulders and gripped his hilt in white knuckles. Vanitas rippled with contempt -- and then swiftly stabbed forward. It wasn’t a lethal blow, Ven could tell; his whole body wasn’t in the motion, so he was still holding back, and the tip of his Keyblade was aimed towards the outside of Ven’s body rather than his core. Vanitas probably intended to go for his shoulder.

He never made it. As soon as Ven recognized the movement, he put all his wavering strength into stumbling quickly to his feet and unleashing another spell -- but rather than an offensive attack, his magic flashed, grew solid, and stretched out in front of him, instantly forming a translucent wall. With Ven’s weight driving it forward, the barrier slammed into Vanitas, blocking his swing and knocking him backwards. Before Vanitas could catch himself or even recover, Ven dismissed the wall just as quickly as he had summoned it, threw up his left hand, and cast a hasty Blizzaga at point-blank range. It hit Vanitas full in the chest; a second later there was a thundering crack of wood splintering as he was hurled through the bedroom door and into the hall, the air hissing in his wake as a trail of light mist.

Ven staggered forward, making it as far as the doorway before he fell to his knees, panting harshly. With his Keyblade as support, he raised his head in time to see Vanitas already on his feet again, casting a healing spell over the ragged hole torn in his shirt. The skin on his chest was red from the cold impact. It was hard to tell if the expression on his face was a grin or a snarl -- either way, it didn’t quite look sane and Ven was detecting a torrent of smothered emotions underneath it.

Vanitas observed him almost thoughtfully for a few moments. “ _Y’know,_ ” he professed, his tone traced with demented cheer, “that desperate face actually looks good on you. I like that. No heroics, no stupid friendship speeches… just fighting for your own life now.” He started forward, his pace relaxed and unhurried; in contrast, Ven scrambled to stand. “You can say your precious bonds give you strength -- maybe they do -- but that’s nothing more than a shield. It’s not until you fight tooth and nail for _yourself_ that your true nature comes out. And you?”

Vanitas stopped a couple yards away -- too close for comfort, but too far for Ven to make the first move as he was -- and his voice abruptly dropped an octave, his words coming low and dark and menacing. “Let’s just say… if you were serious about taking the Unversed back, _this_ is what it takes. Negativity, hatred -- everything I am. Everything you deny. You think you left it all behind?” His gaze seemed to go through Ven all of a sudden, as though not really seeing him. As though he were speaking to himself. Or was he?

“Unversed…” Ven repeated. The Matron. His past. His tie to the Unversed. The control he’d fleetingly exerted just now, Vanitas’ uncharacteristic flash of anger, his odd words -- and behind it all, Xehanort’s insistence that Ven be responsible for this nutjob one day.

What was the link? _What did it all mean?_

His headache flared again, nearing unbearable. He was exhausted. _Nothing_ made sense, and on top of it all his heart was still reeling from the news about the Matron. He wanted to get as far away from Vanitas and his smothering atmosphere as possible, to escape this maze of questions -- but he had come this far, learned this much, and Vanitas was one of only two keys to this enormous puzzle.

“As much as you hate me,” said Ven slowly, still panting, “it’s not like you to lash out at me like that. And…” He frowned, daring to close his sore eyes for a second. “You act surprised over what happened with the Unversed… but then you give me _advice_ on it?” His voice was rising. “What do you _want,_ Vanitas? What does Xehanort want? Why are you--”

Vanitas blurred and Ven only just raised his Keyblade in time, catching his swing and locking both weapons between their chests. “I’m here,” Vanitas deadpanned, his face as unreadable as the Unversed’s had been, “for the exact same reason you are.”

_Same--?_

Vanitas withdrew and drove a swift kick into Ven’s stomach, knocking him back. He swung again and Ven only narrowly dodged it by straightening up again, steel whistling past his chin.

_Too slow, too slow--_

He sidestepped the next lunge, blocked the follow-up strike -- but Vanitas wasn’t tired. Vanitas didn’t have this freezing weight in his bones slowing him down or the bite of fatigue in every movement. He disarmed Ven with a fast and heavy two-handed blow, knocking his Keyblade from his grip, and without missing a beat darted in fast--

\--and a flash of bright light erupted between them. Something struck Ven’s chest and knocked him backwards, but it was softer than a Keyblade. He hit the floor with a grunt and looked up in time to see that light lash out at Vanitas, who narrowly parried it and quickly retreated several steps. As the light faded, Ven instantly recognized the figure standing protectively over him, her free hand held out behind her. She had been the one to shove him back.

“Aqua?”

She ignored him, her poise as still and alert as her raised Keyblade. Not for the first time, Master’s Defender looked appropriately threatening in her hand.

“Oh, look. Mom to the rescue again.” Surprisingly, Vanitas didn’t keep up his battle pose. On the contrary, he dismissed his weapon and casually fell back another step, eying Aqua with both a wary and dismissive regard. “If it helps you sleep better, I wasn’t going to kill him.”

“It doesn’t,” she said flatly, but she also let up most of her tension as her own weapon fell to her side. She didn’t dismiss it. “Or is attacking somebody who’s unarmed actually okay by your standards?”

“You’re assuming I _have_ standards.”

By now Ven had moved into a crouch, trying to steady his breathing. In a heartbeat Aqua knelt beside him, touching his shoulder gingerly as her anger quickly melted into open concern. “Ven, you okay?”

He didn’t miss the way she kept her Keyblade angled in front of him despite her seemingly easy posture. He stared across at Vanitas, who remained blank, before nodding once. “Yeah. I’m fine.” She helped him slowly to his feet, keeping a hand on his arm as he gathered his bearings. “What’re you doing here?” he wondered, frowning. “Why’d you leave the Land of Departure?”

“It was an acceptable emergency,” she replied firmly, her gaze hardening a little as she too looked at Vanitas. “I wasn’t about to let Naminé come here alone.”

“What? She’s here, too?”

“Man, you really were out of it,” Vanitas remarked. “Have you done anything right since this whole thing started?”

“I’m pretty sure I remember Xehanort telling you to report to him once Ven was up,” Aqua interjected, her cool tone lined with a hint of frost. “You can tell him he’s doing fine.”

Vanitas held her eye for several seconds -- Ven felt a flash of irritation -- but then only gave her a thin smile as he turned to leave, catching and holding Ven’s gaze in turn for a couple seconds before starting in the other direction. Once he rounded the corner, the air in the hallway seemed to warm up and become more breathable.

Only then did Aqua truly relax, her shoulders lowering as her Keyblade disappeared. She sighed. “Are you really okay, Ven?”

“Yeah. Just a little sore.” That was an understatement, but there was no sense in worrying her over what couldn’t be helped.

Aqua frowned as she looked at him, scanning his face attentively. She raised her hand to his right cheek and he felt magic stir between her fingers; a moment later the cooling touch of a healing spell eased into his skin. “What did he want?”

Ven gave a long, silent exhale as he considered that question. For all his flaws, Vanitas wasn’t the dishonest type. He seemed genuinely willing to reveal the truth, even if it killed Ven as a result. He had mentioned being under orders, which Ven fully believed; either for safety reasons or something else, Xehanort wasn’t allowing him to speak too freely.

His reaction to the Unversed, though… He had been surprised, reacted as if angry, but the way he had strained to conceal it was definitely unlike him. And if he was trying to hide his anger, why lash out at Ven openly and push him into a fight? Unless… the fight had nothing to do with his anger. Unless there was another reason for making Ven push himself like that.

“...I’m not really sure,” Ven replied finally. “Just tryin’ to be the alpha male, I guess. Same as usual.” Aqua let her hand drop and hummed, a displeased sound, but Ven quickly flashed her a tired smile to let her know he was taking it in stride. His cheekbone had stopped throbbing and his head felt loads better, so it was a genuine expression. “Sorry you had to come out here. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s okay.” Returning the smile, she gave his hair an affectionate stroke. Were he still a head shorter than her, Ven would have leaned into her side, but being eye-level with her now made those old gestures difficult. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“You said Naminé’s here, right?”

“Mm. Xehanort sent for her, so I came along.”

“What’s he need her for?”

Aqua fixed him with a level look. “...You were unconscious for three days, Ven.”

 _That_ was news to him. “Huh?”

“We were only told that something had caused a fracture in your memory… that you were sleeping again.” She crossed her arms over her stomach, her eyes giving off a deep sadness that the rest of her didn’t. “In order to wake up, you needed Naminé to fix the fracture.”

_Xehanort sent for her._

_Sleeping ‘again.’_

Obviously, Vanitas had been the messenger. Ven felt a pang of guilt. There was no doubt that Aqua had been scared for him. “Sorry,” he repeated more quietly.

“As long as you’re safe, Ven, that’s what matters.”

He knew she meant it. For a moment they stood in comfortable silence, each glad for the other’s presence and safety. “So,” said Aqua hesitantly, “did you find what you were looking for?”

At that, Ven looked away. With all that had happened since waking up only an hour ago, he hadn’t really had the time to think about the uncomfortable truth still weighing on his heart. Now it came back to him, and with no further distractions it felt just as raw and devastating as when he had first heard it from Vanitas.

“...Kind of.” The sudden lapse of strength in his voice earned a concerned look from Aqua. “Can we go home?” he asked. “I’ll… explain there. I just… need to be home.”

* * *

“He’s still got a couple weaknesses. Other than that, I think he’ll get by.”

“If those weaknesses are caused by you, that’s a lesser concern.”

“Is it? I could’ve killed him three different times in the last few days. Are you that confident in my loyalty after you’re gone?”

“No… I’ve only ever expected you to be loyal to your own interests, nothing and nobody more. And you should know perfectly well by now that I’ve only trusted you within the limits of my expectations. I stake nothing on suppositions of your obedience.”

“And the Unversed. You knew there was a chance he still had control over them, didn’t you.”

“By himself, no. But it would seem your hasty actions have had unforeseen effects, wouldn’t you say?”

“Unforeseen by _who?_ ”

“It is of no consequence. In the unlikely event that Ventus perfects his ability to control the creatures, this has no bearing on you. After all, you’ve only been using them positively since the War.”

“...So _that’s_ how it is. You really think he’d cooperate with something like that?”

“No less than you might. You see, somebody like Ventus… He has an insatiable pull towards what he believes is right and good. He thinks first of his loved ones, second of what ‘ought’ to be done, and lastly of himself. It is nothing a creature like yourself can hope to understand.”

“You sure about that?”

“Hmm. You consider him self-righteous, do you not? Conceited, illogical, and blinded by his prejudice towards the light. But I assure you, he is the opposite. I have seen the arrogance of light incarnate, Vanitas, and that boy is anything but.”

“...So you think he’ll go along with your plan because it’s ‘right.’ ”

“Not because it _is_ , but because he _believes_ it to be. Rather... he will, with time.”

“Hmph.”

“At any rate, you have played your part. Avoid contact with him until I say otherwise. Should he seek you out, do not push him again. He needs time to think over everything he has learned.”


End file.
